


Devil's Jump

by wickness



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fluffy Romance that Leads to Gotham Darkness, Harvey will joke about death threat poetry, Harvey you are the reason I drink, I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good, Plenty of implied smut and general spoken expletives and vulgarity, There are crotchless panties left over from Dix's retirement bash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 128,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickness/pseuds/wickness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Gotham.  Backstory to "In Your Dreams".  There will be plenty of fluff to start off, but the story will become a dark one.  After all, this is Gotham.</p><p>She held his hand tight in hers.  "How do you look into that ugliness every day and then come home to me and act like you don't know it?"</p><p>Harvey brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.  He said the first part out loud.  "I make it work.  'Cause I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I really like you."  He kept the second part to himself.  <i>And I’d never forgive myself if you wound up dead, you know what I mean?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold Hard Bitch

**Author's Note:**

> As it turns out, I'm ready to post this next story much more quickly than I thought I would be. The rating for this story will definitely change at some point, because … Bullock. This is a backstory to "In Your Dreams", but if you haven't read that story, no worries. In this one, none of it's happened yet!
> 
> Of course, I own none of Gotham's characters. If I did, I'd be on a yacht sipping margaritas, using all my millions of dollars in cash to fan myself and buy more margaritas.
> 
> My apologies in advance for Harvey's vulgar language, observations, and actions. I don't know how he found me or why he talks to me, but while he's here, I'll keep writing everything down just like he says, no matter how it hurts my brain and destroys my soul.
> 
> Shoutout to ScaryScarecrows, who inspired this story by throwing out ideas for Gotham sitcoms. Shoutout to Harvey while I'm at it, who wakes me up with bits of dialogue at 3 a.m. You are the reason I drink.

7 Years Earlier

Harvey Bullock stood in the lobby of Blackgate Penitentiary, along with his new partner, Detective Johnson Pickering. The kid was quick, but not smart. He couldn't find a clue during clue mating season in a field full of horny clues all dancing the clue mating dance. Aside from being short on extra brain power, Pickering looked he might be able to start shaving in, oh, about another year or two, once puberty hit. In stark contrast to the gun and badge, he had the easy good looks, boy band blonde hair, and stupid grin of a J.C. Penny's catalog model. ... But the kid didn't ask a whole lot of questions and could seriously throw down in a fistfight. So as such Harvey resigned himself to play out the hand he was dealt.

In his mind, he gave a golf-clap to the Universe. He'd come across a partner that actually made him miss Dix. He frowned reflexively as he was reminded of exactly why he needed a new partner, courtesy of 'The Goat'. Proof that every time he thought he'd met the most deranged lunatic on the face of the planet, Gotham served him up one even shit-bat crazier.

Harvey glanced up at the clock above the receiving desk in the lobby. Jesus Christ, how long did it take to print out two fucking pieces of paper? He immediately began scanning the vicinity for a distraction.

And bingo. Found one. The cute little redhead still worked there. She stood just inside his one 'o clock at the very back of a line of file cabinets behind the front desk. Her matching suit jacket and pencil skirt were a color he couldn't quite nail down today. Somewhere on the spectrum between chocolate and aged merlot, which should have clashed with her cinnamon hot hair color but didn't. Whatever, all that mattered was that little office casual number pulled tight in all the right places. And she knew how to walk in heels, which was all but a lost art these days.

The very first time he saw her, well, he perused her curves at his leisure - but he also gave her a month tops. Blackgate had a way of weeding out the creampuffs. So she'd been here, what? Four months now? Golf-clap to her, too.

Harvey turned half a face to his partner. "Hey, Pickering."

His partner looked over from where he'd zoned out. "Hm? What?"

Harvey nodded over at not-a-creampuff. He lowered his voice. "What's the story with little red riding hood over here?"

His partner glanced once over his shoulder before reverting back to staring out into the lobby. "What? You lookin' to be her big bad wolf?"

Harvey faced the same direction and relaxed his back against the counter. "She gives me the time? I'll howl as long and loud as she'll let me."

Pickering clicked the side of his cheek. "I heard she likes the ladies."

There was an image he'd save for later. "That's fine by me. Just so long as she lets me watch. Or tags me in."

"You're really hard up for some prison therapist girl, huh?"

"Give me twenty minutes. I can make prison therapist girl into prison therapist woman."

A loud feminine voice sounded just behind them. "Hi, boys."

They both turned around to find themselves only inches away from prison therapist girl. She fluttered her eyelashes at them... oh, sarcastic-like.

Harvey opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke overtop of him. "Little heads up, voices up front sorta echo in the back. So just to set the record straight, I tried dating girls. Turns out we're no angels ourselves. I don't always need a full twenty minutes. It all depends on what I've got going on that day. And in that fairy tale with the big bad wolf? You might want to cast yourself as someone else. He doesn't make it back for the sequel." She pointed to her left. "But if you're serious about sneaking into grandma's bed, I'd say you have an outside shot with Edna our stenographer over there."

Harvey's gaze followed to where she pointed out a Caucasian woman in her mid-sixties, who had her gray hair done up in full beehive.

Prison therapist girl gave a friendly wave to Edna. "She's looking for a new boytoy."

Harvey leaned in. "Is that the end of this lecture or should I wait for the ten minute break?"

She loudly stapled his paperwork together. "Don't let me hold you up, detective. I'm sure you've got surveillance to run or evidence to log or arrest warrants you just can't wait to file."

Okay, somebody caught the CHiPs marathon from last week. Harvey said, "Looks like I got all the trouble I can handle right here."

"You think this is trouble? Just wait 'til you need me for a court hearing."

Harvey lowered his voice to sweet talk level. "Hey, don't be like that. I thought dames like you were supposedta believe in second chances."

She handed off the paperwork to Harvey with a sugar-sweet, "Have a nice day, officers."

Pickering snickered under his breath. Harvey turned his back with a final, short wave. "Yeah, all right. Check you later, prison therapist girl."

The minute they were through the door and down the steps, his partner said, "That lady told you."

"What are you talkin' about? I totally made her lose her shit. Where I come from, that's a win."

Harvey climbed into the driver's seat with a groan. He congratulated himself on yet another outstanding conversation with a female.

He couldn't wait to get back to the office. He needed a drink.


	2. FNT

7 Years Prior

Madeline leaned up against a gritty cement wall by the back offices of Blackgate Penitentiary, scribbling down notes for her next session. Robbie Figarosa tried to steal a Ford Explorer, but he didn't try anywhere near hard enough. Didn't get to do a whole lot of exploring either. He got pinched before he even left the parking lot.

Madeline reminded herself to point out how it was interesting that Robbie's father worked as a mechanic who specialized in fixing up sport utility vehicles. Things between Robbie and his dad went bad and then went worse. His father kicked him out of the house for, as Robbie reported, being a "no-good, washed up, insert-nasty-expletive-here jag-wagon". Now the guy stole cars just like the ones his dad no doubt worshiped and got his name in the police blotter on page seven of the Gotham Times, which his dad no doubt read.

There were other, less illegal ways of crying out for help to estranged family members.

Madeline dropped down her pen and paper and let loose a sudden, irritated sigh. One of those fun little lightning storms of past sharp, embarrassing dialogue popped up in her head. When she talked about motivations like that - unconscious actions taken in order to create an arena in which to solve a problem - the staff here told her to wake up and smell the felonies. If she had a nickel for every time someone told her to get her head out of her ass, she'd be able to buy out Wayne Enterprises. They explained to her slowly, condescendingly: These guys break the law. They're dangerous. All they really need are a pair of metal bracelets and some good old-fashioned hard time. They need 'therapy' like a cat needs pajamas.

But she knew as well as anyone else with half a brain that some men went to prison and other more privileged, lawyered-up men did not. A man with an 8th grade education could steal a car. A man with a Gotham University business law degree could steal the whole damn dealership and would never once see a tray of food getting pushed through a bean slot. The warden here told her that though Gotham was an economic wasteland, there were pockets of wealth to be found in the city. From what Madeline could see, the only people who had their "pockets" full of wealth were people like the Mayor… or, you know, the warden himself.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the sound of hard, purposeful footsteps approaching. They stopped just around the corner from her.

"... Look, I know that you're not the Machiavellian criminal mastermind behind this, okay? But you don't talk to me, like right now? You're gonna maroon yourself and be doin' a couple dimes on Hellhole Island. Population: You."

Madeline recognized the voice. It was the Big Bad Wolf, doing a little more huffing and puffing. She leaned against the wall, for the moment, content to eavesdrop.

Another, shiftier, more nervous voice said, "I'm not lookin' to do time like that. You know that."

A voice she recognized. It was Lyle Jacoby. In for manslaughter, up for appeal. Madeline read between the lines. So Jacoby knew something, like something that could make his prison sentence a distant memory or at the very least lower his bid.

The detective's voice softened. "I know you miss your wife and girls."

Jacoby said, "... I'd miss them a whole lot more if I got them killed, you know what I mean?"

Madeline flinched. She made herself still. Well, at one point she might have been able to walk around the corner, the picture of casual indifference, but that window had passed.

He answered, "Look, the story doesn't have to go like that. I know you're a lame duck in here, and you know I want to spring you. So help me out. Give me some names."

Jacoby sighed, a man caught between a 20-year-sentence and earning the brand new reputation of prison snitch. After some consideration, he whispered to the detective, "You want to talk to Dale Hentzman. … The guy's got an ego the size of Wisconsin and he likes the sound of his voice a little too much."

"...Yeah okay, so the guy can blab. But I'm brass and you're not. Think he'll talk to me?"

"Bring some cigarettes. That oughtta soften him up a little."

The detective spoke with authority. "You're doin' the right thing. Give me a little time. I'll make this go your way." He started to walk toward her.

Madeline froze up against the cement wall.

Harvey stopped just before he reached the corner and turned back to Jacoby. "By the way I saw Kaylee at that recital."

She could hear the grin in Jacoby's voice. She could also hear him walking away in the opposite direction. "You did, huh?"

"'Course I did. I told you I'm watchin' out for things, didn't I? That girl's got a set of pipes. She brought down the house." He said, "Let me guess. She takes after her dad that way?"

Jacoby cackled a proud laugh. "You get me a bucket, I still wouldn't be able to carry a tune."

The detective said, "We'll just see about that. Once we bust you outta here, we'll take you down to karaoke at Iggy's. You show me how it's done."

She held tight against the cement wall as the detective stalked right past her down the hallway, a man on a mission. He disappeared around the next corner, never the wiser to her presence.

Madeline let loose a heavy sigh of relief. Once the anxiety of the experience left her, she blinked in thought. She tried to remember the last time she'd heard of an officer of any kind going out of their way to check in on an inmate's family, so much so that they attended what sounded like a kid's voice recital. Then, she tried to remember the last time she'd witnessed an officer treating an inmate like a human being.

And she couldn't.

(x)

Detective Harvey Bullock stood at the front desk of the lobby, his fingertips tapping a drumbeat against the counter. Edna, the boy-toy-divining stenographer, looked up at him over the hot pink frames of her spectacles with an edge of annoyance. Harvey smiled back, a 'hello there, hot stuff, where you been all my life?' Hey, he was in a good mood. And even cougars disguised as administrative assistants needed a little love thrown their way sometimes.

Edna asked in a voice roughened by cigarettes. "What's your last name?"

"Bullock," he said. "Also, add on Detective Johnson Pickering while you're at it." If his partner's name was on there, too, he could con the kid into doing the paperwork down the line. Edna typed lethargically and loudly on her keyboard in response.

Blackgate kept up with current information on their inmates about as well as the hoodrats kept up with their landscaping, but this prison was just the ticket for getting 'last known' anything on recently released prisoners.

Harvey fell into soft neutral, thinking about which duet he'd rope 'ole Lyle into once he broke him outta this joint. Maybe a little 'Jailhouse Rock' for irony's sake. Maybe 'Islands in the Stream' if the mood turned romantical. He'd draw the line at 'Endless Love' but anything else would be fair play.

He saw her head of candy apple red hair first. Then of course, he saw everything else, trim legs, nice bust, oh, and an 'up yours' smirk.

He sent one right back to her. "If it isn't Blackgate's resident fairy tale expert."

Prison therapist girl smiled down at Edna, looked over at the papers on her station, and asked, "Which one's for this gumshoe over here?"

Edna kept her eyes on her computer screen and waved behind her. "Just sent it to the printer."

She scooped up his info sheet from the printer tray and brought it over. She said, "A prison visit this bright and early? Hell of a way to start your morning."

"This crowbar hotel can't keep me away. Must be all the smiles and friendly service."

She huffed a short noise as she attached a post-it note to the paper. "We do provide an all-inclusive vacation destination."

Harvey played along. "Next time I pick up the Times, I'll look for you guys in the Travel section."

She handed off the paperwork to him. "Make your reservations in advance. We fill up quick."

Harvey accepted the paper and looked on as she walked away, just as inexplicably as she arrived. He said, "I thought you shrinks were supposed to focus on dollin' out the brake fluid. Care to shed some light on why you're up here playin' office drone all the time?"

She kept walking. "Just trying to bring a little order to a crazy world."

Before she turned the corner, he said, "Every time you say that in Gotham an angel gets its wings."

"I got it."

Harvey looked over to see his partner, Johnson Pickering, standing right next to him, wearing a shit-eating grin on his face. The look on his face dialed down his physical age to that of an 11-year-old.

He blinked at the kid. "No, you didn't."

Johnson held up his left hand 'swear on a stack of bibles' style. "I got the address. Had a little talk with his parole officer from way back when. We gotta go into the part of town where the Russians run things. That's where this shit started." He looked at his partner and pointed at the paper in his hand. "What's that?"

Harvey smirked at him and held up the paper. "The name, phone number, and address of where it all started."

The kid's face fell and he shook his head. "Anybody ever tell you that you're sort of a dick?"

"Hey, hey," he said relenting. "I'm just rattlin' your cage." What Harvey didn't say was that he was shocked the kid got anything, let alone a real-life, honest-to-God lead.

"'Cause you're sort of a dick. Like most the time."

"You did decent work." He quickly reverted back. "Just don't quit your day job."

They stepped through the doors of the prison and out onto the sidewalk. Johnson said, "You gotta work on your communication skills. You want to kill a bird with two stones you gotta let me know."

"Though technically that is what we did here with this, it's supposed to go 'kill two birds with one st-"

Harvey stopped as he looked down to find a yellow post-it note attached to the report. In flowing feminine handwriting it said:

'In the spirit of second chances...'

Along with a phone number. He said, "Holy crap."

His partner frowned. "What?"

He spared a moment to shock. Then he folded the post-it note and stuffed it down into his pocket for safekeeping. As they reached the squad car, Harvey held up the paperwork. "They got your name wrong. You're officially Detective Johnson Dickering."

He grabbed up the papers from Harvey's hands. "Let me see that..." When he saw his name printed correctly, he shook his head. "I take it back. It's all of the time."

Harvey laughed to himself as he climbed into the driver's side of the squad car. The puberty police over here just made it too easy sometimes.


	3. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

7 Years Prior

Madeline sat at a long, dark-stained oak bar, nursing her second glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. The luxurious nightclub reeked of money, old Hollywood glamour, and ... lilacs. Something smelled like lilacs. Madeline looked around but couldn't put her finger on it.

Deep, dark red undertones suffused the entire bar with rich saturated color. A lounge singer with dark makeup and big lips crooned a song that made Madeline think of the vocal stylings of Nancy Sinatra. The club was busy, not packed, but there was just enough foot traffic for no one to pay her any mind. Across the club, a short black woman wearing six-inch heels barked orders at the wait staff and walked around like she owned the place. Probably because she did. She flaunted a spiked pixie cut with hot pink dyed tips, expensive taste, and long eyelashes.

"Hey."

Madeline looked over her shoulder as the detective walked up to the bar. He looked fresh and put together, but he still had a rakish look, like a newspaper man in a forties crime drama.

"Hey yourself," she said.

He sat down and pointed to her drink. "Got started without me, huh?"

"I saw you on the news right before I left." She watched his eyebrows go up at that. "Figured you might be a few minutes late."

"Lucky for you we've got showers at the station."

"Aw, you did that just for me?"

"Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do."

He did smell like Irish Spring. And leather and cigar smoke and charcoal? No. Gun powder. She responded in a sing-song voice. "Corner some criminals. Disable a bomb. Take a lady out for a drink. Is that just another Tuesday for you?"

He ordered himself a scotch and then said, "I'd rather skip the first two. Focus my time and energy on that last part."

She picked up her wine glass by the stem and said, "I'm Dr. Scott."

A crooked smile appeared on his face when he said, "I'm-"

"Detective Bullock. Saw it on your badge."

He offered his hand. "Harvey."

She shook it. "Madeline."

He lifted his drink. "To first names."

They clinked glasses, and she took a long drink of wine.

He said, "Soooo... a doctor, huh?"

"Yep. I went straight from my masters into the doctoral program. Which really just means I got to make all sorts of cringe-worthy mistakes in front of people way older and more experienced than me."

Harvey said, "Must not've been that bad. They still gave you that diploma, didn't they?"

Madeline's voice brightened. "During a presentation on the geriatric population and sexuality, I shared with them that the older crowd can have a healthy, vibrant sex life well into their fifties, sixties, and even seventies." She said, "There wasn't a person in that room under forty."

"Bet that made you popular."

"The woman in front just about choked on her iced latte. Had the leave the room."

Harvey rested his arm on the bar. "You don't need post-graduate classes to get the 411 on that. Follow me around on the job for a few days. You'll learn all about that and then some."

"So you're telling me you busted in on a couple senior citizens gettin' down and dirty?"

"You know there's just some things you can't unsee," Harvey said. "That ain't even near the worst of it. I could tell you stories, sweetheart."

Madeline sipped her wine. "I could, too. Except, you know, I can't. HIPAA laws."

He looked down at his scotch and then back up at her. "You know, you're a whole lot less wound up once you've got a couple drinks in you."

"Oh," she said, drawn in by the comment. "So you really are gonna bring up Little Red and the Big Bad Wolf?"

"You go from Atilla the Hun to Little Miss Sunshine in the span of twenty seconds." He eyed her. "I'm just tryin' to get a reading on you."

"You aren't exactly the first law enforcement officer or prison guard or inmate to speculate about my relationship status." Or lack thereof. She set down her wine glass. "If I don't shut that down the second I hear it, I may as well start sending out resumes now."

Harvey smirked and nodded his chin to her. "You always attach a love note on their paperwork right after?"

"No." She sat up and crossed her legs. "But you aren't everybody."

That earned something of a smile. "I'm not, huh?"

She said, "Haven't you seen the news? You're that cop who catches bad guys on TV."

"Yeah, okay. But you got your timeline twisted, doc. Last I checked that happened after you reamed me out and then asked me to call you up sometime."

Madeline thought on that. He didn't dance around. He got right to the point. She responded in kind. "Us psychologists, we see the cover and then we want to see what's in the book." That seemed to get his attention. "Maybe I'm trying to get a reading on you, too."

He leaned in close. "You're knockin' it out of the park so far. What am I thinking about right now?"

Madeline smirked in return. She didn't need to read minds to know that part. But she fiddled with her wine glass as she postulated, "You're thinkin' this club is swanky and all, but it's getting a little tired." She looked at him. "Maybe you're up for something a little more adventurous."

Harvey raised his eyebrows and appraised at her for a moment. Then he kicked back the rest of his drink. "C'mon. Grab your coat. I know just the place."

(x)

"Just so you know, Detective, this is my first time."

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

"So I just hold it like this?"

"Yeah, but you gotta put your hips in line with your shoulders."

"Okay, let me just re-position here."

"Stop. Right there. Just like that."

"So now what?"

"You let it go."

A shot rang out in the Gotham City Police Department's firing range, then another, then another. She wasn't ready for the kickback of the .22, so Harvey steadied her, keeping his hand placed solidly between her shoulder blades.

As he did so, Harvey found himself trying to do the math on this one again, and every time the numbers didn't add up anywhere near right. He was a four and half, inching closer to a five with the gun and badge. So what was this solid eight doing with him. Not even reluctantly tagging along with a 'what the hell, if they feed you, go', but handing him her goddamn number. Not that he was trying to ruin a good thing with extraneous logic, but he spent all day adding and subtracting every person in this city as fast as he could for survival's sake. His bullshit detector was on full blast all day and all night, and right now, it was beeping a loud, obnoxious alert about this young doctor and her ass that would not quit.

Best guess he had was that she must be a couple cans short of a six-pack. And let's just say he happened to be right about that. So this prison therapist girl shows her crazy, tucks a little back in, and what's the first thing he does? Gets her tipsy and puts a loaded gun in her hands. Now who needed a check up from the neck up?

As Madeline stood there holding a smoking gun, wearing a black dress and matching heels, she reminded Harvey of one of those James Bond girls. Femme fatales, almost all of them, but then again most broads were in his experience.

His next thought cut through all the rest.

Goddamn. She looked good standing there.

When she looked up at him, he nodded to her. "How'd that feel?"

Madeline lowered the gun and lowered her safety earmuffs. "Pretty badass. Not gonna lie."

Harvey flipped a switch on the wall to their left, and the paper shooting target crinkled in the air as it rushed towards them.

Madeline studied the paper and didn't find what she was looking for. "Where'd I hit it?"

Harvey couldn't help snickering as he changed out the papers. "You didn't."

She tried to brush it off, but she still blushed. It was easier to see those freckles across the tops of her cheeks when she did. Harvey decided he needed to make that happen again at some point. She said, "Guess I'm not as badass as I think."

He said, "Unless you got a shootout scheduled for high noon, I don't think you have to worry about it."

"How long have you been a cop anyway?"

"Been GCPD for seven years and counting."

She put the safety back on her piece, like a good little student. Then she held out the gun for him to take. "Let me guess. This is the part where you get to be all macho and show me how it's done?"

And circle gets the square. He gently pushed the .22 back to her. "You hold onto that for me..." He reached into his sidearm and pulled out a Smith & Wesson Model 66. Madeline put her earmuffs back on and gave him some room.

Harvey squared his shoulders and fired off all six rounds with an ease breed from years of experience. He lowered his gun, flipped the switch, and the target pulled back towards them. Madeline stepped forward to see six bullet holes congregating in and around the small red bulls-eye.

She pulled down her earmuffs and pointed to the one bullet hole that was just outside the first red circle. "What happened to this one?"

He smirked as he took off his earmuffs. "Sun must've been in my eyes."

She huffed a short laugh. "That's okay. Anybody who saw my sheet probably figured I'd gone blind."

"You got a blind spot." The blind spot just happened to be the entire sheet, but...you know, saying that wouldn't get him any closer to getting laid. "That's all."

"Guess I'll need to work on that."

Harvey grabbed up some ammo from a box next to them and reloaded his revolver. "Stick with me, kid. You'll be a regular Annie Oakley in no time."

When he was done, she handed him back the .22 and he holstered it. She kept staring at the paper shooting target. Her voice dropped an octave. "Have you ever killed anybody?"

Harvey replaced the revolver back inside his sidearm. He repeated, "Been GCPD for seven years and counting."

She glanced down and didn't say anything. When he looked at her closely, he noticed goosebumps prickled her skin and the hairs on her arms stood up on end. So she did scare easy. Probably just why she didn't want anyone getting wise to it. Check.

"Well," Madeline drew out, rallying. Rubbing a hand down her arm, she leaned against the clear plastic wall of their booth. "We could have probably gone into different lines of work. Instead we took jobs that put us in contact with dangerous criminals on a daily basis."

'Cause getting to break traffic laws and fire off machine guns from time to time was just his speed. In his case, anyway. He leaned against the wall beside her and nudged her with his elbow. "Yeah, what's a pretty little thing like you doin' in a hellhole like Blackgate anyway?"

She arched a graceful eyebrow at him and said in a slightly admonishing tone, "This pretty little thing gets shit done." Her voice took on a thoughtful slant. "... Shit that probably should have gotten done a long time ago. And telling me I can't do something is probably the best way to make sure that's all I do."

"A little opposition makes you dig your heels in, huh?" Stubborn. Figures.

"When I signed on, the warden told me if I lasted a month he'd give me his office."

Harvey remembered having a similar thought the very first time he saw her. "How'd that deal turn out?"

"I got -an- office. It's a little smaller than a coatroom." Madeline smiled just a little. "That's okay though. They ain't seen nothin' yet. I'm just getting started."

While she talked, he inched closer. His arm was resting completely against hers now. "Slow your roll, short stack. Way I see it, you got nothin' but time."

As she studied him, a little smile played on the corners of her lips. "You're tryin' to simmer me down," she realized aloud. "Do I make you nervous or something?"

He thought back to earlier that evening. "Time bombs make me nervous. You got me curious."

Madeline looked as though she liked the sound of what he said, for some fool reason. "This whole sneaking me into the police department's shooting range, teaching me to fire a gun ... It's pretty damn sexy."

Harvey did his best to look like people told him he was pretty damn sexy all the time. "You play your cards right, Madeline, I just might let you take me out again sometime."

"Maddie." She said, "My friends call me Maddie."

He must have played his cards right. She let him take her out two more times. Then, she let him push her up against the door of her apartment. So he let her drag him inside by his tie. Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.


	4. Two Points for Honesty

7 Years Prior

Harvey had a little pep in his step as he and Johnson walked through the industrial strength doors past rows of cells on either side of the hallway in Blackgate Penitentiary. He kept one ear tuned into the ebb and flow of his partner's running commentary. Johnson had been talking stream of consciousness style, which as Harvey was learning was the only way the kid ever talked about anything. For today's discussion topic, he'd chosen just about the most baffling subject on the face of the planet.

Women.

Johnson said, "I mean, I'm all like where you do wanna go to dinner? And she's like, I dunno, where do -you- wanna go to dinner? And I'm like, can we just ... not?"

Harvey snorted in reply.

"The face she gave me? I thought she was having an aneurysm or something. Twenty minutes later, we finally pick some place, and we sit down. And she points to this other girl across the room and she asks, 'do you think she's hot?'"

"Yeah, that's a trap," Harvey said, carrying two cartons of cigarettes underneath his arm. When Johnson didn't respond, he thought, _But you're you..._ "So you answered her, right?"

"What was I supposed to say? She -WAS- hot."

Harvey nodded, unsurprised. "Women are like those CIA interrogation experts they got down at Guantanamo. The line of questioning never stops. You pause, flinch, show any sign of weakness?"

Johnson muttered to himself. "Yelled at me in the middle of the restaurant."

"Hope you like waterboarding." They turned a corner. "Give 'em an answer they don't like, y'know? Like the truth? You're screwed. They'll keep it mentally filed away, bring it up every month like clockwork, just to make sure you know the score. That shit'll drag on for decades."

His partner sighed out. "Threw her drink in my face. It was like reality TV in there."

"Listen," Harvey said, breaking it down for him. "You want to get laid? Rule number one. Nod and smile. A lot. Rule number two. No current address. No personal history. You are a ghost. Keeps 'em interested. Gives you an exit strategy. Rule number three. Practice these words. 'I'm sorry. You're right.'"

Johnson rolled his eyes. "How many of these rules are there?"

That's right. He forgot who he was talking to. The boy king of short term memory loss. Harvey said, "I know thinking gives you headaches. But don't worry. Class is over for the day. I'll lecture in installments."

"Whatever. Why am I taking advice from -you- on gettin' laid anyway?" He motioned around to the cells on either side. "That's like takin' advice from one of these losers on how not to get caught at a crime scene."

Harvey smirked loudly, but said nothing.

Johnson looked around at the cells. "Wait, who are we here to see again?"

"Dale Hentzman. Loves his cigarettes. Loves to talk. This oughtta be quick."

Harvey heard Madeline before he saw her. That sharp, crisp click of high heels against the aging, faded tiles. She walked up to the guard booth, knocked on the window, and stood on her tiptoes to lean in to talk. He glanced at Johnson and ambled smooth-like up to the booth.

Perfect timing. This was gonna be good...

Harvey saddled up beside her and lightly placed his hand in the small of her back. He said in a smooth voice, "What's a nice psychologist like you doin' in a prison like this-"

Madeline grabbed his hand and flicked it back at him in one nimble movement, like he was the playing card and she was the dealer. "Hey," she growled. It echoed down the hall. "Hands off, asshole."

She shot him a glare and turned an about-face, clip-clopping back the way she came. The guards in their booth gave a low whistle and a "daymn", taking their roll of peanut gallery a little too seriously.

Harvey's mouth dropped open soundlessly, and he opened up his hands expansively in wild confusion.

Madeline disappeared around the corner and back through one of the double-locked gates. The buzzer sounded and the door slammed and locked behind her.

Johnson pointed to her as she made her exit. "So, which rule was that one?"

Harvey put down his hands and closed his mouth, and he walked back the way they came towards their informant. He said to him, "Yeah, forget what I said. There's just one rule." He turned to his partner and said with energy, "All women are batshit insane."

Harvey and Johnson held court with Dale Hentzman. They got the name of the the latest explosions expert to cross paths with the Russian mob. At least in that way, Harvey got somewhere.

Their prison visit took about as long as Harvey predicted, and they walked back through the doors of the GCPD with just enough time left to call it a night. Johnson hightailed it out of there to go try to work things out with his bird. Harvey sent him off with a lazy salute and a 'godspeed'.

With a grueling sigh, he collapsed down into his desk chair, and he grabbed up his flask, deciding now was as good as any to talk things over with his good friend Jack Daniels. Mid-swig, his telephone on his desk rang shrilly. He swallowed down another double-shot's worth before he cleared his throat and answered. "Bullock."

"Hey."

He sat straight up. "Oh," he said. "So should I hang up now? Or do we know each other? 'Cause, you know, I can't keep it straight."

Madeline responded calmly. "I'm sorry about what happened. You just gotta understand..." Something about her tone made him give her an inch. "For the most part, I trust the guards here to watch my back." She got down to brass tacks. "But those men gossip more than old Yentas outside a synagogue."

Harvey released a low sigh through his nose.

It was loud enough that he knew she heard it. She said, "So, they see you with me. They start gettin' careless, start talking around the other guards, my boss, the guys in lockup? Then all of a sudden I'm in session, and an inmate knows just what button to push to get a rise outta me. I can't have that."

Harvey nodded sagely on the other end of the phone call, though of course she couldn't see it. He started to say something, but Madeline kept going. "Look, I'm not trying to hide you. It's not like I'm seeing anyone else. I'm..." She made an awkward sound of frustration and got mixed up. "I mean, and if you're seeing someone else, that's fine. It's whatever. It's ... not what... I'm tryin' to ..." She released her own sigh. "I just get readings on people sometimes. … And you just seem like the type of guy who's gonna think that what I did is about you. And it's not like that."

A teeming silence stemmed over the line. Until Harvey said, "So, I'm a button, huh?"

That stimulated a short nervous laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, you're a button."

He leaned back in his chair, taking the receiver with him. "Just so you know, you had me pretty much sold on the fact that you were one of those multiple personality cases they cover late at night on the I.D. channel."

"I think you mean Dissociative Identify Disorder."

"Yeah, whatever condition that Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde guy never got cleared up."

"In my case, I prefer to think of it as feisty but balanced."

Harvey shook his head, a will-wonders-never-cease look washing over him. "When am I gonna see you?"

"What're you doing right now?"


	5. Jump Then Fall

7 Years Prior

Madeline rolled down the car window and sat back in the passenger seat of Harvey's squad car as they took an exit off the interstate. The breeze that pushed back her hair held inside it the last lingering warmth of summer. Underneath that thin layer of heat, there was a much colder autumn bite in the air. Which only made sense. The sun had gone down some time ago.

"Good thing you're a cop," she said over the roar of the wind, "Or I might be a little worried about this long drive down the road to nowhere."

Harvey took a long drag off his cigar and blew a heavy puff of smoke out his own open window. "Even if I wasn't, you got those long fingernails and those reflexes I saw back at the prison? I think you could take me."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, I bruise easy." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Yeah, right. She'd believe that when she saw it. She'd have to put a stamp on him. Tough as Nails: Handle with Care. There was the day's oxymoron.

A few minutes later, Harvey took a turn onto a long, winding back road bereft of streetlights, which took them straight up the side of a steep hill. The car leveled out just as they reached the top. They pulled up close to a drop-off, and Harvey put the car into park a few feet from the edge of a cliff.

Madeline smirked at him. "Like I said. Good thing you're a cop."

He smiled and shook his head at her. Probably to ease out her nerves. She checked in with her nervous system to find herself feeling uncharacteristically calm and easy, which she considered a nice change of pace in general.

Harvey stamped out his cigar in the car's ashtray and stepped out of the cruiser, and Madeline followed suit. She slammed the car door and walked up to the edge of the drop-off, which was barricaded by a low but sturdy gray and beige rock wall. She sucked in a breath as she crested the hill and looked out onto a stunning, panoramic view of Gotham City. A light breeze pushed back the hair from her shoulders as she stared out onto the distant island of tall, sleek skyscrapers surrounded by waves of water that glistened in the moonlight.

"Whoa," she said without meaning to.

Harvey stood beside her. "I figured it was a good bet you hadn't been up this way."

"What made you think that?"

He half-grinned. "'Cause you ain't from around here."

Madeline eyed him, working her own smile into place. She pulled down the corners of her lips and nodded. So he wanted to play that game. All right, stud. Let the games begin. "West Virginia."

"A Mountain girl?" He watched her like she might be in the middle of a lie.

"Charleston," she said. "It's a different vibe than your city, but ... You still gotta watch where you're going."

"Whatever you're doin' to hide that accent? It's working."

"Seven years of higher learning in D.C. cured me of that." She purposely let her accent slip, "But just because I 'red up real nice don't mean I'm fixin' to forget where I come from, y'all."

He gave her a long look, shook his head, and then stared out at the skyline. "What brought you over this way?"

Her crisp, clear voice returned. "Money. Not a lot of it, but enough of it." She glanced over at him while pulling the hair out of her eyes. "Let me take a wild guess and say that you -are- from around here."

"What tipped you off?"

"Oh, just everything," she said. "You got it written all over you."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, Gotham's hard to wash off."

Madeline liked something about that turn of phrase. She sucked in a deep, appreciative breath, and then she walked purposefully back to the car.

Harvey called after her. "That it? You done already?"

"Not even," she answered back. She opened the door to the back seat and strolled back carrying a six-pack in her hand. "Saw these when I got into the car."

He watched her walk back towards him. "Finders keepers?"

"Treat me nice I might even let you have one." Madeline handed him a long neck, and he pulled out his key ring. She heard the sharp snick of the cap being popped off, and she accepted the beer while staring back out upon Gotham's city lights. Harvey released the cap from his own brewskie and took a long pull from the bottle.

Madeline glanced over at him. "So is this part of your playbook? On date seven you bring all the girls up here?"

"Just the ones that let me."

She begrudgingly accepted his not-an-answer to her trapdoor question and kicked back her beer. Crisp, cold, had a bite, with hops that went on for days. She let out a relaxed breath and then blinking into the wind, she stepped up to peek over the edge of the rock wall. And found herself staring down at a vertical drop that sent that swallow of beer sinking right down to the pit of her stomach. She let off a short noise as Harvey grabbed her waist to steady her.

He murmured, "Easy there, feisty but balanced." When she backed up, he said, "They call it Devil's Jump."

"Yeah," she said, still looking over the edge. "I can see how it acquired that name." She washed down a good portion of her beer, before she walked back towards the car. Feeling the alcohol warm up her face and awaken that silly section of her mind reserved for moments just like these, she lightly hopped up onto the hood of the squad car. She sent a smile to Harvey as she stretched out and got comfortable.

He motioned to her with his beer and said, "Wait, I've seen this one before. That was the month of June on the calendar up at the gas station."

She laughed a little at that, and he sauntered his way up to her, taking his time. He leaned carefully against the hood, still staring out at the view. Then she scooted up to the front of the hood and her feet once again found the ground.

He took a glance behind her and said, "Watch your ass."

"I thought that was your j-" Madeline checked the back of her skirt. "Oh, shit." She made a halfhearted attempt to wipe the thick black marks off the seat of her skirt and then quickly gave up the effort. She wiped her palms on one another. "Well, that oughtta teach me my lesson."

"Don't wear white after Labor Day?"

"More like, don't wear a white skirt before you sit down on a black cop car."

Harvey set down his empty bottle on the hood. "I shoulda said something."

"Nah, I don't care." And she meant it. She pointed her hand forward towards the overlook. "I mean, look at that. How could I care?"

They settled down into silence, and for a moment, Madeline wondered if Harvey understood what she meant. She fiddled with her beer and said, "When you're right there in the center of it all..." She pointed to the skyline. "It feels like you're inside this big panicky mob, that could turn on you at any moment. It's not boring. But it's dangerous and wild and it's easy to forget that ..." She squinted and held up her thumb and pointer finger so that Gotham fit perfectly inside the basket of her fingers. "Out here it's only this big."

She drank her beer, and when she lowered the bottle, she felt Harvey pull her waist toward him. She stared up at him, and when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

They stayed like that for awhile, and then a gust of wind whistled past them, asserting its authority. Madeline let off a shiver, and without saying anything, Harvey took off his leather coat and draped it around her shoulders. She accepted the gesture with a demure 'thank you'. Then with a 'what the hell' shrug, she sat back down on top of the cruiser. She fished her arms down into his jacket and leaned back against the hood of the car to look up at the stars. Before she knew it, Harvey carefully positioned himself beside her.

He said, "So, we're gonna have to come up with a good cover story. You know, after my ass dents this hood all to hell."

"Don't you remember? It was a meteor," she said easily. "Shaped just like man ass."

"I was thinking falling rocks. Pretty sure I saw a warning sign for that back the way we came."

Madeline dropped her gaze from the sky and made a quick assessment of their immediate scenery. No crushed beer cans, no used condoms, no dried-up needles. No other cars, no lingering tire tracks either. She began to doubt that this area was frequented by teenagers trying to get lucky or anyone else for that matter. Once again, it should have made her nervous, but it didn't.

She asked him. "So how do you know about this place anyway?"

It took Harvey a minute to answer. "My mom used to take me and my sisters up camping this way. When she could afford it."

"Your mom some kind of girl scout or something?"

Another pause. The therapist in Madeline spoke up. He realized he's said too much. And now he's realizing that you don't know how not to press the issue. Buckle up. Looks like you're about to find out which way he's gonna play it. As such, she waited patiently and didn't fill the silence to protect them from the moment.

Eventually, Harvey said, "Nobody can be two parents. But you know, my mom gets an A for effort."

"She sounds like a powerhouse."

"She held down three jobs and somehow managed to keep me and my loudmouth sisters in check. I don't know how she fuckin' did it. I never once saw that woman crack."

Listening to him describe his family brought sharp attention to the missing figure in the picture. "I'm guessing your dad didn't know a good thing when he saw it."

Harvey sat up and noisily popped the cap off his next bottle of beer. "He was your basic deadbeat. Took off before I was outta diapers."

The ensuing profile hit her like a surprise wave at the beach. Drugs, alcohol, maybe gambling, probably womanizing, left a mother in the lurch with a gaggle of kids. Harvey didn't know if he was dead or alive, probably didn't give a rat's ass either way. He wouldn't even recognize his own father if he walked right past him on the street ... And he knew it. Probably only ever referred to him as something like 'the sperm donor'. So by default that made Harvey man of the house, at age three or younger. So when he gets a little older, he starts to act the part. He takes out the garbage and mows the lawn. He changes the oil, does the taxes, tries his hand at amateur plumbing, best he can. He beats the daylights out of anyone who looks the wrong way at his sisters, or his mom for that matter. He has to. No one else is going to do it. His father stole his childhood and this cop tries like hell never to think about it. And if I ever corner him and make him think about it? ...He'll probably drink himself under a table until he doesn't think about anything at all.

"Uh-oh," he said, glancing over at her.

"What?"

"You got that look on your face. Processing. Please wait." He drank a little more of his beer. "You putting together a psych eval on me, doc?"

Madeline didn't deny it. "It's nothing personal. Just the way my brain works."

He nodded to her. "How 'bout you? What's your story, morning glory?"

She shook her head. "It's really not that interesting."

"Yeah, bullshit." He said, "'That's not the way this game gets played."

She arched an eyebrow. "That's not the way... what get played?"

"You know the deal. I spill my guts. You gotta spill yours."

Madeline propped herself up on the backs of her elbows. "Well, let's see… Grew up in the suburbs just outside Charleston. Two parent household, got an older brother who never lets me forget I'm his obnoxious sister. Went to school, gave my folks the usual headaches but not much more than that. I mean, we're not perfect. We know how to annoy the ever-loving shit out of each other, but ..." She huffed a short laugh before she sipped her drink. "If I had to paint it, it'd look damn close to one of those Norman Rockwells they sell in the art gallery uptown."

Harvey stared forward, quiet and somber.

She waited a while, seeing if he would break the silence. When he didn't, she said just above a whisper, "Where we come from, you know. It doesn't define-"

"Hey." He shook his head and half-looped an arm around her reassuringly. "It's all good. S'nice to know things like that really exist someplace."

Madeline leaned her head comfortably against his shoulder.

"So answer me somethin'," he said. "What's nice, functional suburbs like you doin' with other side of the tracks like me?"

She looked at him. "I guess I like to take my own Devil's Jump from time to time."

What she said pushed his head down into a short nod.

Should she go full psychologist on his ass? Aw, what the hell. They'd come this far. And she still had another beer to go so... She said, "Hearing about your mom. That pretty much explains what you're doing with me."

Harvey backed up, shooting her a look. "All right, for the record? I don't do that gross, fuckin' Freud shit. And just in case you were wondering, you shouldn't either."

Madeline put up her hands. "Hey, your mom was a strong, self-possessed, bread-winning woman. My dad was a gruff, blue collar roughneck. But he's made of steel. And I know that." She smirked to Harvey, who looked like he couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. "Hey, look, I didn't draw up this psychology road map. I just follow where it takes me."

His words were harsh, but his voice was playful. "That's the kind of shit you peddle in those sessions of yours?"

A 'you got me' shrug. "Some of it."

"...And people come back?"

"Well, I have a captive audience."

He downed the rest of his beer, like he needed the medicine. "How's that saying go? The punishment fits the crime?"

She went quiet for a moment before she said, "I think my brand of psychology is kind of sweet. In a fucked-up, Freudian sorta way."

He looked at her. "How you figure?"

"We have our patterns," she said. "Across our lives, the patterns repeat in our friendships and in our relationships. What it really means is... We're all just out there looking for our family."

Harvey stared forward, eyes wide, shaking his head in a soft, slow manner reserved for people who just regained consciousness.

Madeline laughed at him. "Oh no, I did it now. You're ready to jump in your car, do one of those Die Hard with a Vengeance one-eighty degree spins, leaving a dust cloud behind you. Just go to bed, wake up, hope it's a bad dream."

He smirked and cracked open his next drink. "Yeah, okay, you think you're the craziest dime I've run across? Don't flatter yourself."

She grinned. "All right. C'mon. Make me feel better."

"So I'm seein' this girl. This is like back in the day, you know, peaked in high school Harvey Bullock."

She gave him bedroom eyes. "Oh, baby. Tell me more."

He liked that, and good. He just better. He pressed out his chest and got into Harvey Bullock check-this-shit-out story time. "So I just got my license. I take her out. She lets me bring her back to her place. Her parents are out of town. It's just all goin' on. She tells me, she's got a surprise for me. She takes out this bottle. I think it's lube." A shrug. 'Why the hell wouldn't I?' "She starts, y'know, applying it. All of a sudden, I can't feel my dick."

Madeline sent him a confused stare.

He pointed at her expression. "Yeah, it would have been nice if I could have had that reaction. Instead, I freak the fuck out, run into the bathroom. I try to get the feeling back in my dick-"

"Bet you've had some practice there."

"Yeah, all right, smartass." He got back to the story. "So that plan doesn't work. So I run back out, naked as the day I was born. I'm screaming at her, 'What the fuck did you do to me?!' She's deer in the headlights, not putting words together right. So she hands me the bottle. I look at it and it says 'good head'."

Madeline barked a laugh. "So I'm guessing, what? False advertising?"

Harvey said, "I booked it the fuck out of there. I didn't even take my clothes. Just buck naked driving down Franklin Boulevard. The next day one of my buddies explained to me that the chick is supposed to use good head on the back of her throat to cut down on the, uh..."

"...Pharyngeal reflex?"

"What you said."

The ridiculousness of it hit her once again, and she held a hand over her mouth as her laugh went all the way up to her shoulders.

Harvey said, "My dick wasn't right for a week." He finished off his beer. "All 'cause homegirl can't read fuckin' directions."

Madeline drank some liquid courage. She figured she was going to need it to share her own story. "So," she started out. "I met this girl-"

"You have my attention."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I figured. So I met Joan."

"Wait, wait, let me do the voice over." He cleared his throat. "In this taboo romance where Gotham goes wild, the flannel shirts will come all the way off..."

Madeline made a disgusted noise. "Just ... just... do you want to hear this story or not?"

He readied his next beer. "My bad. Please continue."

"So I met this girl, Joan, in my Women's Issues class." Madeline hissed out an irritated sigh as she watched Harvey's face. "You're going to interrupt me again, aren't you?"

"'Women's Issues?!'" He exclaimed. "That was the name of the class?" When she didn't correct him, he said loudly, "You do not have to pay for a class to learn about that. Anything any woman has ever told me can be listed under the title of 'Women's Issues'. You got hosed. That college took you for a ride, doc."

Madeline got a good look at him. "So have we reached the point now where you are no longer trying to get laid?"

His voice went completely deadpan. "See, here's the thing. With me? That point doesn't exist. No, even when you were talkin' about the crazy, parent, Freud shit. I was still all in, sweetheart. Believe me. Nothin' was off the table."

Madeline sat back, shaking her head.

Harvey stared at her for a full ten seconds before he said, "So you and Joanie..."

She made him wait nearly a full minute, because there needed to be a penalty, and then she took a deep breath. "So I'd just gotten screwed over by this shitty guy who turned me off to any male in a fifty mile radius. So Joan throws a little flirtation my way, and I think - that's the solution. Girls are now for me." She paused for effect, and said, "So Joan and I are ... getting to know each other-"

"No," Harvey said smoothly. "Slow it down. There's no rush. You take your time."

She sent him a withering stare. "Everything's going fine, but then I stop."

Harvey let off a groan, deflating in disappointment. "Ugh, you're killing me, Smalls."

"I realize something quite suddenly, so I back up. I look her in the eyes, and I ask her in my high-pitched, nineteen-year-old voice, 'So... how does this work?'"

"So you'd just never seen a porno?"

Madeline raised her voice. "I didn't prepare. I didn't know there was a going to be a test." She continued, "So Joan explains the process to me. And I, you know, I give it the old college try-"

"So to speak."

"And that's when I realize that I've made quite an impressive mistake. Apparently, you can have the best intentions of lezzing out. But you can't just wake up one day and decide you're a lesbian, any more than Joan can wake up and decide she's not. So turns out I didn't..."

"You didn't switch teams in the middle of the ball game?"

She slung back her beer. "It was a no-go. So essentially, I teased and cock-blocked both of us. I didn't know anyone could do that."

Harvey leaned back on his elbows, right next to her. "So all that noise down at the prison a couple weeks back, about you tryin' girls..."

Madeline nodded as memory assisted her. "When I first started work, one of the guards was giving me hell. So I told him exactly where he could go and what he could do with himself once he got there. He retaliated, like any true misogynistic jackhole, by telling everyone there not to waste their time, for I liked the girls. Which … worked out pretty well for me actually. I got a lot of work done that week."

Harvey finished off his beer and his words started to slur. "Yeah, well, I nympho leather you noticed this or not, but-"

"Did you just say that 'you nympho leather I noticed this'? You've had, what? Three beers?"

He looked down, counted. "Four."

"Four beers? Lightweight."

He let off a contented sigh. "I may have pre-gamed back at the precinct without you."

"Well, I know you've got no love for Freud. But I think 'nympho leather' is one of his slips."

He nodded to her, sending an inviting grin her way. "Oh yeah? I'll Freudian your slip."

"Is anything with you not an innuendo?"

He leaned in. "I'll in your nuendo."

It took a little more than that. A little more pillow talk, a little more sincerity that he managed to dig up from somewhere. But by the time she finished the last beer, Harvey figured out how to get himself where he wanted to go.

They didn't go with the meteor or the falling rocks story. Wouldn't you know, those low-life savage street kids jumped up and down on the hood of the squad car just for kicks. Harvey agreed their cover was thin but told her not to worry; he'd make it sell.

Madeline washed her skirt three times with OxiClean on permanent press. The black stains never came out.


	6. She Caught the Katy

7 Years Prior

Outside, Gothamites hunched down into their coats, bracing themselves against the wind of the overcast, chilly Monday evening. Inside, the Gotham City Police Department hummed with activity, officers bringing in locals on charges, lawyers storming through to advocate for their clients, and detectives from different divisions moving at all different speeds for just as many different reasons. Dr. Madeline Scott unwrapped her scarf from around her neck and moved briskly through the pathways that cut around desktops on the ground floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Harvey's partner from across the way.

He saw her, too, and rushed over to her. "Hey, Madeline!"

She powered past him. "Hey, Johnson. Look, I can't talk right now. I've got like ten minutes to deal with something here."

He caught up with her and awkwardly kept pace. "Just tell me you're done moonlighting."

"No," Madeline drew out, an edge of annoyance to her voice. She'd been filling in for a therapist who was on maternity leave at a private practice during the evenings, for a different (read: bored her to tears) client base and better money. She wasn't sure what the hell she'd been thinking, but she'd found out the hard way that holding therapy sessions for eight hours a day at the prison and three hours a day outside it was great. If you were looking to get checked into the psych ward along with everyone else. "I got one more week. Then I'm back to the regular nine to five."

Johnson released a frustrated sound as he hurried to keep up with her. "You gotta make it stop. He's driving me crazy."

"Yeah, well, I'd offer you a session, except I haven't learned how to do therapy in my sleep."

Johnson complained loudly. "You know how he's got like no patience? Ever since you turned all workaholic, he's got negative patience. He threatened to rip off my arm and shove it down my throat because I couldn't find the keys to the squad car."

"I have exactly zero control of that-"

"You know, I got a migraine the other day? I didn't even know I could get migraines. It's not just a headache, you know. You can't see straight, you fall over, you puke your guts out."

Madeline rolled her eyes. Men were such -babies-. She sped up and whisked away from him. "Yeah, well, stock up on Excedrin and tough it out."

Johnson yelled after her. "You have the power to end this!"

She made her way over to the far end of the precinct, and Fuentes must have heard her coming, because he looked up from the file in his hands and sent her a clear, piercing look. Detective Esteban Fuentes had unkempt wild gray hair that reminded her of Don King and bushy eyebrows to match. Madeline couldn't exactly place what it was, but the guy just always looked like he needed a shower. Though his glare was dialed up to the "kill" setting, his face usually looked that way to some degree, scrunched up like he was smelling bad fish.

Fuentes all but spit the words at her. "I called you down here eight hours ago. It's about time you showed you face here."

Madeline made half a move to pass him, but he blocked her path. They two-stepped for a second, and then with a short, barely audible groan, she stopped in her tracks. "I'm not a genie. You didn't summon me. And I'm not here to rehash this."

He talked like he'd been practicing what he would say in his head since he woke up that morning. "You have one of your cozy little chats with my perp. All of a sudden he's got a goddamn alibi?"

"He wasn't in city limits on that date. He says he didn't-"

"They all say they didn't do it!" He brayed at her.

"He's got proof to back up his story," Madeline said, going toe to toe. "What? I'm supposed to just sit on that?"

Just outside her line of vision, she caught the movement of other officers turning half an ear to them. One of them was Johnson, who got a little closer than the rest. Meanwhile Fuentes' face turned an impressive shade of burgundy. "I don't know what the hell you -think- you job is-"

"Is this the part where you tell me?"

"YOU'RE A GLORIFIED FUCKING ZOOKEEPER!" He shouted into her face, his words echoing in the parapets of the station.

Her voice turned so cold she was surprised when her breath didn't ice over. "I'm not a warden. I'm not a guard. Do you even know what it is that I do there?"

"Seeing how you got away with this? I figure it involves a lot of time on your knees," he shot back, pointing a finger at her. "Fact, I hear you can blow the chrome off a tailpipe."

She popped off a short, "Fuck you."

He looked unimpressed. "Yeah, I would. Except I hear there's a line for your piece of ass."

Madeline glared daggers at him and stood her ground. "You want to take an easy, overdone shot at me? Fine. I will make it my personal vendetta to go back through every case you've ever closed and cross-check every word you wrote down with every halfway-sane man up in that prison. Because I bet if anyone took out a magnifying glass, they'd find enough fiction in your files to keep you in court hearings 'til this city's swallowed up by global warming or Superman retires due to rheumatoid arthritis - whatever happens first. And instead of getting into any line, you really should focus on that little impotence problem. They've got these pills now. They're small. They're blue. They work almost instantly. So think it through the next time you want to stop me while I'm walking, you loud-mouthed, sexist..." She glanced up at the clock above them and rolled her eyes. "Time-wasting dick."

Someone coughed, further amplifying the sudden silence of the precinct.

A few feet down, Johnson Pickering looked left and looked right. Then he called out a manly "yeah" and clapped his hands. At least one other officer lazily clapped with him, and she thought she heard someone, maybe Alvarez, throw in a perfunctory "you go, girl". Fuentes glowered at her, but Madeline pivoted and headed back down the path she started on before he could work out a comeback...

... To see Harvey Bullock storming toward them from the back of the precinct. Madeline knew she only had seconds. She steamrolled right into his path, colliding against him before he could get anywhere close to where she'd left Fuentes. She pushed both hands into his chest hard, saying, "Nope."

He protested, stumbling backward. "No, what the-? You let me get my hands on - Fucking - Religitard - Shitsack - Desk Monkey...!"

Somehow, perhaps through sheer will and shock factor alone, she pushed him backward through the open door of the annex, past the file cabinets, and into one of the back rooms that were about the size of a broom closet. In her head, she wondered if it looked anything like that YouTube video of the house finch chasing off the wandering albatross. Once they were both inside, she pulled the door shut behind them with a clean 'bang'.

Harvey loomed like a wild, furious hurricane. "You let me back out there! He hasn't even heard half of the shit he's got comin-"

"Harvey." She spoke to him in slow, patronizing words. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I can handle it."

"I'm gonna beat that slimy, low-lying, lizardy knob jockey to death with his desk chair!"

She held up her Timex to her eyes and said, "We've got six minutes. Do you want to spend it dancing with Fuentes or do you want to do something about the fact that I've got you backed up into an empty office?"

He picked her up and slammed her up against the door of the room. They made decent use of the time, but six minutes kept things to a PG-13 rating. When they hit time, Madeline worked out of his grasp and mumbled through an open kiss, "Gotta go."

"Screw that," he said into her ear. "You got those rich divorcees cryin' about how the ex got them a Porsche when they wanted a Maserati? Knock 'em down a few pegs. Make 'em wait a few minutes."

Madeline pulled back and buttoned back up her shirt. "No can do. Last I checked their money spends the same as anyone else's. But do me a favor? I'm giving a talk here on Stress Management next week. I need you to sit in, so there'll be at least one person in the audience who isn't giving me the stink eye." She took out her compact mirror and fixed her hair. "Oh, and leave the Fuentes nonsense alone. That reject isn't worth your time, okay?"

"I'll go to the training."

She pinned him with her stare and said through gritted teeth. "...Okay?"

Harvey neglected to provide an answer. Instead he said, "Soooo... Fuentes got himself a bad case of limp dick, huh?"

"Women's bathroom of the place I got my nails done. Those girls can talk." She said with finality, "Leave it alone."

"Get outta here," he said, deflecting. "Don't let the door hit your tight little ass on the way out."

"Go catch some bad guys." She put her hand on the doorknob, then paused and turned back. "And would you go easy on Johnson? You're gonna make his brain explode."

Harvey growled out. "Can't light a fuse on what ain't there."

"I miss you," she said with deep sincerity.

"You're killin' me."

Madeline shrugged back into her winter coat, left the annex, and zeroed in on the front doors of the precinct. She began thinking about her next client. Harvey couldn't read minds any more than she could, but he hit pretty close to the mark with her 6 'o clock. The divorcee was rich and smart and... exhausting. Her client was worried about her ex-husband taking their kids with him to Aruba. She'd already convinced herself that he'd turn them against her during the trip. So how did the divorcee plan to stop it? She'd warn the kids days and weeks prior not to buy into their dad's crap, no doubt making them anxious and upset. Then the kids would go on the trip, where of course, they'd have an AMAZING time because… Aruba. Then, when they came home, this divorcee would mercilessly grill them, making them anxious and upset all over again. She'd effectively create exactly what she most feared as Madeline supposed we all d-

"Dr. Scott?" Captain Sarah Essen stepped down the stairs a few feet in front of her.

She slowed to a halt, and wisps of anxiety kicked up in her chest. "Evening, Captain." She did her best not to talk a mile a minute and began to regret that fourth cup of coffee. "Look, I didn't mean what I said back there. I'm not going to look into any case files." Like she'd have the time. "It just really seems like what this guy in lock-up told me is legitimate."

Essen nodded. "I got your email." With a humming sigh, she said, "We'll look into it."

"Sorry for the scene with Fuentes. I've been a little... wired."

The Captain brushed away her words like they were a housefly. "Fuentes had it coming. We'll deal with the fallout."

Madeline felt a blush rising to her cheeks in sudden embarrassment at not even considering the possibility of any kind of 'fallout'.

The Captain added in a 'listen closely' sort of way, "I wouldn't make it a habit."

She nodded cooperatively and then headed for the exit with a, "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, Dr. Scott?" Essen stepped after her with increased interest. "Are you... still working nights?"

She called over her shoulder as she beat a hasty retreat. "Just 'til the end of the week. It can't get here fast enough."

Sarah Essen deflated and crossed her arms. "For us either."


	7. Lay Down the Law

(x)

7 Years Prior

Warden Carlson Grey sat in his office on the second floor of Blackgate Penitentiary, absently running a miniature rake through a miniature sandbox perched upon his desk. They called it a zen garden. It was supposed to clear the mind of all stress, pressure, and mental turmoil. So far all it did was provide a substitute for finger tapping while he was on his weekly phone call with Commissioner Loeb.

Over the line, the commissioner made himself emphatically clear. "... Last thing I need is any media blowback coming my way while I'm here in this city. Shut down any line of questioning regarding these riots at least until I'm out of town next week."

"Yes, sir." Grey caught on quickly that this was the best, most times the only, way to answer Loeb. A lot of his time and energy lately went into making sure there would be no other answer to give. When Loeb moved pieces into play for Grey to become warden, he understood there would be expectations. It had been both unsettling and relieving to learn how simple those expectations were.

Respect the lines of power. And above all? Keep. Things. Quiet.

Loeb said, "Had another talk with Essen."

He made a short noise of interest. "She on board?"

"Give her a few more weeks, a month tops. She'll be a team player."

"I'm sure she will," he said, more to himself than the commissioner. Like there was any other choice.

A sharp knock rapped on his door, jolting him. Grey stayed on the phone, but looked up at the frosted glass of his door. Against the light from the floor lamp, her silhouette looked cut from black construction paper. He glanced up at the cheap plastic clock above the door. Right on time.

The commissioner grumbled, "I'm getting ready to go to this charity gala. Another one for children's welfare."

"It's that time again already, hm?"

"Every year the Waynes pull in enough cold cash to finance ten city blocks worth of housing and anything else those orphans need."

"Yes, sir," he said, distracted.

Another rap, rap, rap upon his chamber door. That bird needed to give it a rest. He held the receiver of the phone tight against his chest and bellowed in a hard voice, "Settle down and give me a minute!"

The knocking stopped immediately. He lifted the phone back to his ear. The commissioner kept talking as if Grey had never stopped listening. "-oughtta have a benefit for the GCPD and Blackgate while they're at it. Then we could buy ourselves radio silence whenever we need it." Loeb must have noticed how quiet Grey had become. He said, "So. Tell me we're set."

He made it sound convincing, final. "We're set."

"We better be."

Grey hung up shortly after Loeb dropped the call. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and pushed some more sand around in the zen garden. Speaking of things that needed to be set… He called loudly, "You may come in now, Dr. Scott.

The doctor opened the door, looking fresh and polished as per her usual. She sent him a thin smile before closing the door behind her. "You asked to see me?"

He motioned before saying, "Take a seat."

She obliged with a short clear of her throat.

Warden Grey looked down at her, letting out a soft but tense sigh. He cast his mind back to when he first hired her. Go-getter, sharp - at least when it served her purpose. He figured she might actually do something about the backlog of unwritten case notes and get the auditor off his back. She'd be some decent eye candy to boot, and maybe she'd stick around a whole month before she realized she should be working in any other place but his prison.

He was still waiting for that realization to dawn on her. He was getting a little tired of holding his breath.

Grey had considered firing her on the spot. That'd be therapy enough for him anyway. Not to mention, it seemed to be the most obvious solution when he looked at the situation dead-on. Except this doctor wasn't the type to do anything quietly. And Loeb made it clear exactly ten seconds ago that if things weren't quiet, it would be his headache, or his lobotomy, or his neck where his head used to be. He wasn't trying to spin the roulette wheel and see where the ball landed.

Or maybe he overestimated the magnitude of the situation. Maybe this train still had a chance to switch tracks.

As they sat there, Dr. Scott raised her eyebrows, a little too earnestly for his taste.

Grey frowned and said, "I received a forwarded email from a Detective Esteban Fuentes this morning regarding a Tyrone Morris. Apparently you sent this email not only to him but also to his Captain."

She didn't miss a beat. "Yes, I did."

It raised his blood pressure. "And could you tell me, doctor, why you sent this email to persons outside our facility but neglected to update me on this inmate's supposed innocence?"

At that, her tone became all business. "I didn't want to concern you with a suspicion that had yet to be substantiated."

Grey pointed at her. "But you took it upon yourself to concern an entire police force in the meantime."

The doctor gave him a strange, speculative look. "I apologize," she said, "if it seems like I've taken up an issue with one of your superiors-"

"Essen is not my superior," he all but barked at her. "I'm your superior. You find you have an inmate you can't control it goes straight to me. Not to the GCPD or any other institution other than this prison."

"I'm not having a problem controlling Morris."

"An inmate cries innocent and manipulates you to the point that you take it up the chain without my authority? That's a control issue. On your part. Dr. Scott, if you can't handle these men and their head games, you're going have a bigger problem on your hands than a negative performance review."

Grey watched her, waiting for her to back down. Instead she sat up straight and leaned a little further forward. "I go into sessions day in and day out where every single man in here screams at the top of his lungs that he didn't do it. If I brought each and every specific case to you, you'd get eight emails a day." When Carlson sent her a questioning look, she deadpanned, "I see eight men here every day for therapy." Then she added, "Morris is different."

"No, he's not."

She said in a clipped voice. "His story checks out."

"Oh really? Because all I hear is Detective Fuentes screaming the opposite from all the way downtown."

"Oh. Well, in that case..." Dr. Scott repeated a little more brazenly, "His story still checks out-"

"Let's say it does," Grey interrupted, effectively shutting her trap. "You think that kind of attention is what this prison, what that station, what any official in this city is looking for?" She started to say something and he spoke over her. "It's not. You make another public uproar? Or you send out another email like this one to anyone inside or outside this prison, besides me? You'll be outta here faster than rat up a drain pipe."

She shook her head and breathed out audibly, her cheeks turning pink. "You won't find anyone else in this city to do this job like I will, and you know it."

Dull anger pounded behind his face. It would be a headache later. He rasped out, "You're as replaceable as anyone else in here. Keep these men under control and do your job. Not my job. Not the police captain's job. Not a detective's job. YOUR job." Then he said something Loeb had once said to him, "This is the part where you say 'yes, sir.'"

For just a moment, he thought that she was going to say another two word phrase, but instead she screwed up her mouth and pressed out, "Yes, sir."

"That's more like it. Now get the hell out of my office."


	8. Your Honor

(x)

7 Years Prior

Detective Harvey Bullock stood a foot down from Captain Sarah Essen's closed office door. He'd heard the racket loud and clear all the way from the other end of the station. That meant everyone else in the precinct could hear it, too. Now drawn in by the shouting, he listened in closely on Fuentes' heated tirade.

"Just who the hell does that doctor think she is! Running her mouth off like that to me!"

Captain Essen answered back in a calm, measured tone, though Harvey couldn't make out the words.

"Comes in here, gives -me- a lecture? ME? Like I'm one of her psychos up in that prison? It's a humiliation!"

Harvey closed his eyes and grunted hard and frustrated in his throat. He pushed himself off the side of the wall and stalked back towards the annex, still hearing Fuentes bellow with fury, "This is a problem for me AND for you!"

He rooted through the files until he found the Morris case. Then he picked up the folder and carried it back with him to the broom closet office ensconced way in the back of the annex. He flipped through the reports, the photographs, and the evidence list collected by forensics.

Attempted murder, nearly killed the bastard. Somehow Morris' would-be-murder-victim pulled through. Sometimes just the right cocktail of timing, coincidence, and genetics made them lucky that way. Harvey honed in and scanned through a long paragraph of stenographer's notes from a few weeks back. A witness came forward, a credible one. Who had proof that…

"Shit."

It checked out. Not only did it check out, but numnuts Fuentes over here hadn't even bothered to shred the documentation. He read a little further and learned that the attack went down out on Falcone's side of town.

Of course, it did. It was the cherry on top of this shit sundae.

Which meant this mope Morris took the fall for something Falcone made happen. Maybe he was in debt up to his eyelids. Maybe Falcone called him up on a favor comin' from a long way back when. Maybe feeling the cold barrel of a Desert Eagle pressing into the scruff of his neck made him hold out his wrists for handcuffs. It'd been known to happen.

Now Tyrone Morris found himself in the center of World's End, and those tapes of regret played that old, familiar song. A sympathetic bleeding heart doctor sat down across from him just itching for his sob story, and he decided she looked a lot like a psychologist but a whole lot more like his ticket out.

Harvey muttered to himself under his breath and ran a hand down his face. It would have been so much simpler if Maddie'd just been spouting off about crap she didn't fully comprehend. He knew how stupid and pointless it was, but he'd hoped that just maybe she didn't have her facts straight before she called out a cop in public.

Eventually, he returned the file to the clerk up front and then he made his way up to Essen's office. Things had fallen quiet, which meant Fuentes finally put himself in time-out after his tantrum.

Harvey crossed his arms and leaned against the wood panel of Essen's doorway. He said, "Knock knock."

The Captain looked up from where she sat at her desk and tiredly motioned for Harvey to join her. He closed the door shut behind him without needing to be asked.

Essen reached down into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a less than half full bottle of Jameson and two whiskey glasses. She smiled sardonically and raised her eyebrows.

Harvey pulled his hands toward himself in a 'wheels on the bus' motion. "Bring it on, Cap."

She poured herself a finger. "Should I make yours a double?"

"Does the pope shit in the woods?" Harvey plunked down in the hot seat across from her. When she handed him the drink, he murmured a 'thank ya muchly' and drained the glass in one quick shot. He groaned out a short, gratified noise as he felt the Irish whiskey burn its way down.

After taking a long swig herself, the Captain let off her own alcohol-induced sigh of contentment. She held her glass lightly between her index finger and thumb and stared off to the side before she said, "I like her, Harvey. That's not the problem."

He said, "I know that."

She shared with him. "It'd be easier if I didn't like her."

He knew that, too.

Essen breathed out heavily. "But she left Fuentes a mite bit prickly. He is not about to let this drop."

"Fuentes," Harvey said his name like he might a type of mildew, "could fuck up pouring piss out of his shoe after reading the instructions on the heel."

Something in the bemused cast of her mouth let him know the she found humor in the painted image. But all too quickly her smile slipped away.

He sat back in the chair and continued, "He could fuck up a crowbar. Have you seen his hair? All wigged out and oily and shit. The man can't even get a shower right."

Essen looked him dead in the eyes. "Say what you want, Harvey. At least Fuentes is smart enough to get with the program."

Harvey scoffed at her words with a short but incredulous laugh. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

She leveled her gaze at him, one that cautioned him to take heed. "It means these walls have ears, but they've got eyes, too." She waved a hand toward the desks downstairs outside her office. "They hear you talk the talk, but they don't see you walk the walk. Even the less observant ones out there are starting to catch on."

Harvey shook his head in disagreement. "That's a buncha nonsense. I take my cut. Same as any other clown in this godforsaken city."

"You might want to start taking a little more than your cut and commit yourself to a side while you're at it." When he met Essen's eye, she shrugged in defeat. "I don't like the rules any more than you do, Harvey. But we chose to play the game. This is how you make it through with both your legs and most your teeth."

He groused reticently as he didn't much care for the contrasting visual, and then he nodded at her because none of it was news to him.

Essen leaned forward, her voice taking on a soft but frank tone. "As far as Madeline goes, she's going to find out how things work in Gotham one way or another. The only question is, do you want her to hear about it from you …" She pointed towards the center of the precinct. "Or them?"

(x)

Harvey and the Cap shared another shot and moved onto less perilous topics. She told him to get his ass back out there and finish up with closing the Jimenez case. He told her it was already done, but for her, he'd close it twice. That ended things on a friendly note.

He scuffed back towards his desk, his mind still rolling through the warnings and advice his Captain conveyed. Then he slowed to a halt when he saw Detective Esteban Fuentes lumber down the hall back towards the break room. Harvey pushed out a decisive sigh and followed after him.

Fuentes didn't turn around until Harvey's shadow dropped across him. When he saw it was Harvey, he sneered at him with contempt as he went to pour his coffee into a chipped mug. "Let me guess," he intoned. "You're gonna corner me back here. Maybe tell me if I know what's good for me, I'll steer clear of your girl?" He chuckled mirthlessly as if he'd just told an old, tired joke.

Harvey stood just inside the doorway. He said in a gruff voice, "I figured me and you could use a powwow. Hash out all your belly-achin' that's ringing through this place."

Fuentes turned half a face him, holding his steaming mug of coffee. "That's interesting. I was just thinking that you and I should have a talk. Some of the guys around here…" He whistled, low and long. "They're worried about you."

"Aw, well, ain't that sweet." Harvey felt himself zone in solely on Fuentes. Funny how threats lent you tunnel vision like that. "Maybe they oughtta worry a little less about me and a little more about covering their own asses."

He pointed, as if marking him. "See, that's exactly what I mean. Here you are getting all riled up over a few bits of paperwork." Fuentes boldly stepped up toward him. "That doctor needs to relax, and you do too. 'Cause I don't know if you've forgotten, but we've got our ways of handling things around here."

Harvey didn't budge an inch. He kept his feet planted solidly on the ground, and his hands uncurled at his sides. Fuentes leaned in just a little more closely before he went to walk past. "You get that piece of tail under control. Or I will."

The words flipped the switch. Harvey sprung at him, instantly ready to do battle. Fuentes threw a punch, but it didn't have nearly enough power behind it, because he hadn't fully anticipated Harvey's split-second reaction. Harvey deftly swerved out of the path of his right hook, grabbed the man's wrist, and used his thumb to squeeze down hard on the vein in Fuentes' hand. Fuentes barked out in pain and he dropped his hot coffee down the front of his shirt, sending the ceramic mug shattering onto the ground.

Fuentes was a man who knew how to use his size, but two could play at that game. Harvey yanked down hard on Fuentes' arm. He didn't hear a pop, but that didn't mean it wasn't dislocated. He swung the heavy-set man around like a square dancing partner, except he used the move to hook him into a headlock. Fuentes growled and cursed, flailing and kicking, but the effort was a pure waste. Harvey locked his legs in line with his shoulders, and in no time he brought Fuentes to his knees. Though the man struggled, Harvey tightened his arm, pressing down hard into the man's windpipe.

Fuentes wheezed and gasped for breath. Harvey didn't need to look down to know that his face was turning purple. He knew those colors were starting to pop.

Harvey released him just a little before the last second. Fuentes dropped down to the ground like a sack of bricks, coughing and choking, holding his hands around his throat. His neck was already a deep red. It'd be an impressive bruise in the morning.

Fuentes looked up at Harvey with a fixated and vacant glare that tried to be threatening, but couldn't get there.

Harvey gave Fuentes a black look that wasn't just anger and wasn't just a warning. He didn't have to tell Fuentes what would take place next should he ever dare to happen down this path again. He turned around and left him, hearing only the sound of Fuentes' forced, painful coughing echoing in the empty break room.


	9. Famous Last Words

(x)

7 Years Prior

Madeline stared at the black and white photograph pinned up by a flat red tack at the very top of a large corkboard beside Harvey and Johnson's desks. The man had olive, weathered skin. He wore a slick, gelled hairstyle above his burly face which held a generous dusting of stubble. He grinned without humor, and there was a disturbing glint in the black iris of his eye.

She shook off a shiver and glanced over as Johnson plunked down at his desk. She shared a 'how ya doin' smile with him and pointed to the picture. "What's up with rapey eyes over here?"

He nodded in agreement. "Creepy, right?"

Madeline made a thoughtful sound and returned to studying the photo.

Johnson asked her, "You lookin' for something?"

"Just trying to figure out if I know him or not."

"Don't waste your time. That dude's definitely never seen a prison term."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "That's just 'cause he hasn't met you yet, right?"

Johnson attempted a laugh, but it sounded forced. "Yeah," he said, not looking up from his paperwork. "Something like that..."

"You seen Harv?"

"He's around here somewhere."

Madeline's gaze swept the floor of the station. She took in the usual parade of prostitute CIs, uncooperative criminals, coke-heads, and all the officers who marched them through the station. Then Detective Fuentes stepped into her line of sight. When he saw her, he froze in his tracks, and his eyes widened just slightly. But that wasn't all that caught her attention. She stared down at the heavy-duty sling around his arm and the soft brace wrapped around his neck. The bulky immobilizers made him look like one of those short, stout wooden dolls that nest inside one another. Fuentes scrambled and stalked away from her at a brisk pace. She frowned deeply at his departure, but made herself turn away.

Madeline walked towards the records annex, and as she reached the entrance, she found him. Her eyes caught Harvey's from across the station. She looked at him meaningfully and started back towards the reading room.

(x)

A wolfish smile worked its way onto Harvey's face as his redhead give him 'the look' and headed to make-out point. _Guess the six minute trailer wasn't enough. Someone wanted a ticket to the feature length film…_

He jauntily picked up his pace and followed after her. After he closed the door behind them, he held up his left wrist. "My magic watch is tellin' me you don't have any underwear on."

Madeline stood still as a statue, arms crossed, sending him a cool stare.

Harvey came to a stop. He figured the tension had to be pretty bad if he managed to notice it. "... But it has been known to run a few minutes fast, so…"

She spoke sharply, "Fuentes looks like he had a recent trip to the emergency room."

He paused, momentarily taken aback. Then he made himself the picture of indifference. "You haven't heard the story?" he said. "Hang around the station for more than five minutes and you'll hear him spin the yarn. Three guys from the East Side Dragons jumped him, and he used his kung fu to fight 'em all off. So he swears on a stack of bibles."

She looked right at him. "Was it you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." She bit off each word. "Was it you?"

He flinched at her hostile tone and demeanor. He said defensively, "Hey, how 'bout you lay off me for a second? Last time I checked I'm not the bad guy here."

Madeline's face sunk down. She wasn't just pissed off. She wasn't even just hurling a silent insult. That he could have handled. This was worse. "So you beat the shit out of him." At first, saying it took energy out of her. Then anger tightened up the muscles in her face and she fired back at him. "What the fuck, Harvey?"

He held out a calming hand. "Now wait a minute."

"I told you that I had it under control!"

He kept his voice even, though it began to take real effort. "You need to back up and take a deep breath." He watched her pretty eyes flash. "I know you think you had the last word with Fuentes, but you didn't."

He was getting agitated. But she still kept going. "What if he'd been my boss, huh? Or worse, one of my clients?"

Harvey wanted to clue her into the fact that the script wouldn't have played out any differently, but he decided not to waste his breath. Seemed to him that her hearing shut off some time ago. "Fuentes was only gonna hear one thing."

She ran a hand down her face. "I can't believe this."

He raised his voice. "Look, I performed a public service taking down that sick son of a bitch. You're acting like that's a bad thing."

"It is a bad thing! Coming up behind me and jacking up whoever I happen piss off that day is a very bad thing!"

"Right," he pressed out sarcastically. "'Cause when I see a ton of bricks about to come down on you, you just want me to stand there. That what you're sayin'?"

That one seemed to turn on some of her lights. Seconds passed, and the loudest sound was Madeline's breathing. In that moment, Harvey hated watching it happen just as much as he felt vilified by it.

She blinked several times before she asked point blank. "What did he say to you?"

Harvey looked her in the eye. "You really think you want to know about that?"

Madeline swallowed reflexively. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. "Just …" Her hard voice returned. "Just because someone's a cop doesn't mean they're above the law."

He pointed behind him and brayed. "You think that bastard out there gives a rat's ass about that?!"

She reared up. "I don't give a shit about that asshole!" She started to talk flippantly. "This is about you! There's eyes and ears in every corner of this station."

"You think I don't know that?! I gotta fall in line out there or it's my ..." He just barely got ahold of himself. "Or it's my badge! I'm up against a wall out there."

"Yeah, I know you are," she answered back. "That's why you need to be careful."

The shock of it made his mouth fall open wordlessly. _-HE- needed to be careful?!_

She said, "This is going to come back at you-"

He stepped up into her space. "No, this was gonna come back at _you_! You can't roll through here taking an axe to every goddamn power line in sight!" He bellowed down at her. "Nobody out there is playin' by your rules! In this city, there's only what's gonna keep you alive and what's not. You need to wake yourself the hell up, before someone else does it for you."

Madeline shrank back and huffed a shuddering breath.

And an unwelcome wave of realization hit him. Oh, shit.

Her jaw worked for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and said dismissively, "Well. At least now I know how it is." Her cheeks flushed red as she whisked past him.

Harvey turned around. "Maddie… C'mon. Don't-"

The slam of the door cut him off with brutal neatness.

He blew out his cheeks and rested his hands on his belt and holster as he looked up to the ceiling. "That's great," he said to himself.

That's. Just. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos! :D


	10. Your Body Is a Weapon

(x)

7 Years Prior

The threadbare canvas awning provided little relief from the sheets of rain falling down around him, but even a little coverage was better than nothing. Harvey Bullock leaned against the storefront of the pawn shop on fourth street, arms crossed, watching the skies rain down. The streetlamp above him emitted a faint orange glow. Its last bulb change had probably taken place around the same time that the Macarena hit #1 on the charts. In contrast, to his immediate right a flickering pink neon sign ("We Buy Gold At Top Prices") burned brighter than the sun. When he looked over his shoulder, he could see Johnson Pickering just inside the pawn shop, gently trying to extract answers from their lead.

The minute Harvey saw the way the girl behind the counter stared at Johnson and his big dumb dimples he knew he needed to make himself scarce. At least it was a far cry from the reaction Harvey got out of her. The second the girl saw him her eyes widened like saucers but for the opposite reason. The way he barged in there, the way he ran his mouth...

Harvey squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He swung his line of vision down the street and then back through the smudged, fogged window of the pawn shop.

The bell at the top of the door jingled as Harvey walked back inside. Johnson had out his notepad and scribbled down every other word the girl said about the explosions experts she saw cozying up to members of the Russian mob. Harvey perused the shop, looking for an umbrella. When he came up short, he walked back to the counter. He lifted a second hand but sharp-looking brown fedora with the world's tiniest white feather tucked into its thin black band.

When Johnson's conversation with the girl slowed to a natural pause, Harvey asked, "How much for the hat?"

She answered. "That one's eighteen dollars."

Harvey pulled a crumpled twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her while he placed the fedora atop his head. When she accepted the money, he tucked his hair behind his ears and checked himself out in the mini-mirror set up by the hat stand. He said, "Could I get the change in quarters, please?"

He left Johnson with the lead and hunched down inside his coat and underneath the brim of his hat as he ran to the pay phone down the street. Upon hearing the quarters successfully collect into the coin box, he dialed and listened to the muted rings sound through the phone line.

Until it was picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey," he said against the steady rustle of the rain hitting his hat and jacket.

Madeline's voice softened. "Hey."

"Look, uh…" He stared down into the overlapping ripples made by the raindrops as they pattered into the mud puddle beneath him. "I'm sorry about the way things went down today."

"I'm sorry, too."

Harvey hadn't even realized the intensity of the stress knotted up inside of him until he felt the tension in his muscles release. "I'm on the street right now, but we oughtta wrap things up in another hour or two, barring any unanticipated criminal theatrics."

"When you finish doing your Thin Blue Line thing, you wanna come by?"

He glanced down at his watch. "Think you'll still be up?"

"I can stay up if I've got the right motivation."

"Anything extra I can do to seal the deal?"

Madeline spoke with the tone of a woman revealing a secret vice. "I need a piece of that blackberry peach pie they serve at the diner down the street."

Harvey half-smiled as he watched rain drip down from the brim of his hat. "I'm your guy."

(x)

A little after twelve-thirty in the morning, Madeline answered her door to find Harvey standing there, soaked with rain water from head to toe and lazily holding up a brown paper bag from Lucky's.

He smirked. "Harvey Bullock's Twenty-Four-Hour Catering Service. We deliver."

"Rain or shine," she said, accepting the bag from him. She pointed to his fedora. "Nice hat."

As she closed the door behind him, he said. "It was on sale."

Madeline got his collared shirt into the dryer, and Harvey relaxed on her couch, still wearing his rumpled work pants and undershirt. She curled up on the couch across from him, before digging into the generous helping of blackberry peach pie. She closed her eyes as she ate the flaky dessert made of fruit so soft it could be cut with a spoon.

He made short work of his own dessert and spoke against a large spoonful of pie. "So … you still mad at me?"

"Maybe a little. But I had a chance to cool off and think things over." She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully before she said, "It wasn't right for me to leave like I did. Just the way you stepped up into my space…" She stopped to choose her words carefully. "...upset me."

From the way his face went slack, Madeline realized that it wouldn't have mattered what words she used. He set aside his plate. Then he said softly, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You don't scare me."

That earned her much needed eye contact.

"Some parts of this city scare me," she said. "The shit they spin on the six 'o clock news scares me…" She finished off the last bite of pie and placed the leftover styrofoam container on the coffee table next to her. She inched a little closer to him. "Sometimes your precinct scares me. When I think about … what it must be doing to you." She repeated. "But you don't scare me."

Harvey gently reached out and pulled her to him. Madeline let herself be pulled and relaxed her head against his chest. She glanced up to see Harvey staring forward in a far-removed way as he ran his hand through her hair.

She rested her ear against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. "I know you've been… stressed."

"That ain't no excuse."

Madeline didn't disagree with the statement. "I know you must have felt backed into a corner." She said, "And I know what you did… you did it for me."

Harvey said, "Not like I go around doin' that sorta thing for just anyone, in case you were wondering."

Madeline closed her eyes and nodded. "You know, I've had some experience listening to people talk when they're…" She used his words. "Up against a wall. If you ever want to tell me about it."

He repeated something he'd said earlier. "You really think you want to know about that?"

Which was his way of saying 'I don't want to talk about it.' Ironically, Harvey responded in about the same way as most her clients did. So she did what she usually did in those circumstances and took her best educated guess. "I bet calling out a detective in the middle of your precinct created more than just a problem between the two of you."

She moved to glance up at him, and he looked back, appearing mildly surprised by what she'd spoken into the room. He responded in a voice as dry as the Sahara. "You might say it kept the workplace lively this week."

"Mine, too. I got summoned into Warden Grey's office pretty much right after it happened."

Madeline felt Harvey's body tense beneath her. She didn't need to look up to know that he was frowning. "What'd that pillbox have to say about it?"

"Oh, you know, just threatened to fire my ass should I ever dare to bring someone's innocence to light ever again."

"Guess you'll have to let lawmen like me worry about that."

"I would," she said, glancing back up at him. "If there were any other lawmen like you."

Though he must have heard the compliment, he kept his focus on the topic at hand. "If you're smart, you'll play it safe over there in Alcatraz. When you get tired of playing their game and you want bend the rules? Not break them but -bend- them? You let me know. Pull me in first." He looked at her intensely. "Folks who try that Hi-Ho Silver, Lone Ranger foolishness? Those are the ones who wind up…" He made a short noise of discomfort. "They wind up no place you wanna be. That's basic."

Madeline watched him. "Okay, Tonto. I hear you." She relaxed against him again. "Not like I'm gonna have a chance to go rogue any time soon, not if the warden has anything to say about it."

"Yeah, well. That's how it goes with the asshats they've got running this messed up city."

That reminded her of her original point about his workplace. "Your captain didn't ream you out, did she?"

"Nah." He fully stretched out his arms and pressed out his chest. "Guess all my careful work puttin' in brownie points with her paid off."

Madeline sat up and sent him a mischievous smile. "Think she came down with a case of Harvey fever?"

He barked a loud laugh at that. "Hell no. I am way too big a pain in her ass for things to go down that road." He interlocked the fingers of his hands and rested them behind his head. "She said she likes you though."

"Too bad I'm spoken for. Could you let her down easy for me?"

Harvey remained stuck on the first part of her statement. "Spoken for," he echoed. "Is that what the kids are callin' it?"

Madeline stood up from the couch and cleaned up their plates. "You tell me. You're the one on the streets all day."

"Let's see we've got… LTR. Cuffing. On a thing."

"LTR?"

"Long term relationship," he said without missing a beat. "Boyfriended up. Oh and …" He put some sass into it. "You my bae, boo."

She raised her game another level. "Well, I'd hate to have all the ladies around town think you my bae, boo. That might cut your CI list in half."

Harvey widened his eyes at her. She gave herself a mental standing ovation, and she bet it showed up on her face. She'd managed to render him speechless. Though of course, nothing ever kept him quiet for long. "Hey, you want the right kind of information you gotta go to the wrong side of the woods, sweetheart. But don't go makin' yourself sick with jealousy just yet." He stood up and followed her into the kitchen. "They can look but they can't touch." When Madeline laughed, he added. "This body is a weapon. It ain't for amateur hour."

Madeline tossed out the foam containers. "If you ever come through here with angry scratch marks, I'll know you told them you were 'LTR.'" She put the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher and washed and dried her hands.

Harvey leaned against the doorway of her kitchen. "Don't worry. That's strictly your department."

She looked at him. "All right, I'm done talking. You gonna take me to bed or what?"

Without warning, Harvey grabbed her up underneath her legs and lifted her onto the counter top above the dishwasher. Apparently, he chose to go with 'or what'.


	11. Shameless

7 Years Prior

Harvey set aside paperwork he needed for court in the morning and worked on closing up shop. It was officially make-himself-scarce 'o clock. By some miracle he'd actually finished his work for the day, and he knew better than to stick around and let Essen reward him for it by giving him some other slacker's work to finish. Maybe he'd actually beat Maddie to the bar this time. There were definite benefits to rolling through after she was looped up three Bay Breezes to the wind, all of them highly amusing, most of them easing things up for him to get her outside her clothing. But variety was the spice of life. Or so The Doors told him.

Harvey was about to stand up, when a thick piece of paper slapped down on his desk in front of him. He looked up into the face of his partner, Johnson. Usually the kid wore his 'aw shucks dimples galore' grin, but at the moment, he actually looked… like he meant business.

Harvey arched an eyebrow at him and stared down at the paper in front of him.

Cut out words of varying shapes, colors, and fonts spelled out:

'Stop looking while you can. If you keep digging you will regret it. This is a promise. A friend.'

Harvey snorted a laugh. "Looks like somebody really got into collage day down at the Yarn Barn."

Johnson frowned. "This came in the mail. It had both our names written on the envelope."

Harvey raised his voice and called downstairs. "Hey, Alvarez!"

Alvarez yelled back without looking up from his desk. "What the hell you want now, Bullock?"

He said, "We got another entrant for this year's poetry contest!"

Alvarez sounded bored. "They just keep pourin' in."

Harvey said, "This one ain't no Shakespeare, but he gets points for artistic creativity." He pushed himself up to his feet with a tired groan and said to Johnson, "C'mon. I'll show you where we keep the file."

He and Johnson walked a few feet over to a tall black file cabinet. Harvey pulled the bottom drawer open, reached down, and handed Johnson a thick, dog-eared manila folder stuffed to the brim with easily a hundred others just like the letter they'd received in the mail. Johnson looked on in amazement as he carefully pulled back the thin cover and began leafing through the contents. His partner said, "... You gotta be shitting me…"

Captain Sarah Essen went to breeze past them and paused momentarily as she saw the file in Johnson's hands. She glanced over Johnson's shoulder at the pages and then back at Harvey. "Is it time for the contest already?"

Harvey plunked back down in his chair. "Nah, National Poetry Month is April." He motioned over to his partner. "We're just celebrating Johnson gettin' his death threat cherry popped."

Essen hmmed and nodded, a 'how interesting'. She turned to Johnson. "Congratulations."

His partner stuttered, trying to reply, but couldn't put the words together before Essen walked back to her office. Johnson set aside the manila folder and pointed down at the letter they'd received that day. "You know who this is from… right?"

Harvey opened up the death threat file in his hands, sighing nostalgically. He skimmed through the papers and then started to cackle as he held up a white piece of printer paper with black typed print. "Here. Check out this one. 'I'm going to violently rap you'. Guess he never hearda grammar check. Or he was gettin' geared up for a battle with B Rabbit."

Johnson held up their own letter and said in a tense voice. "This is from the Russian mob."

Harvey sat back and mimed a lazy jerk-off motion. "It's always the Russian mob. Or the Falcones. Or the Cosa Nostras or the Maronis or the Golden Dragons or the Free Man Gang…" Harvey shrugged. "Death threats from career criminals are the equivalent of introducing fuzzy handcuffs into the bedroom. It keeps things spicy."

Johnson walked back and poked around in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet, before he pulled out two colorful plastic packages. "Yeah, speaking of which… what kinda threats are these?"

Harvey's face broke into a smile. "Those? They're just threatenin' a good time." He made his way over and took the two packages of brightly colored, crotchless panties from his partner. "These are a couple souvenirs left over from Dix's retirement party."

"His name was Dicks?"

Harvey kept his reaction limited. "Last name. Ended with an X."

"That's too bad."

"That's a lotta talk comin' from a guy who's first name is synonymous with a weenie. At least his parents didn't pick his last name."

"It's a family name. Dates back to the 1800s," Johnson said with some annoyance.

Harvey sat back down hard at his desk and dropped the underwear down next to the file. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He overheard his Captain call a friendly 'hello, doctor' from down the way. Harvey looked over to see his little head shrink coming through the front door and stopping quick to chat up Essen.

Shit, that's right.

Johnson nodded over at them. "You didn't tell me your dame was comin' by."

From downstairs, Madeline glanced up at Harvey and waved cutely, before heading over toward them.

Harvey said, "That's 'cause I forgot about it right after she told me." Yet another piece of conclusive evidence that yes, he was in a relationship. He grinned and waved back to her. At the same time, he nodded to the heavy folder on his desk and said through his teeth to Johnson, "Clear that shit outta here, will ya?"

Johnson hopped to it, grabbing up the folder full of death threat poetry and shoving it back inside the bottom file cabinet. As the file drawer shut, Madeline clip-clopped up the steps. "Sorry, I'm late," she said, as if Harvey had noticed or was even expecting her. "I had to clean dog crap off my shoes after walking through the grass by my apartment building."

Harvey asked, "Need us to run some surveillance and track down the culprit?"

She waved away the offer. "I already know it's this yappy little dog. I'd dropkick the thing, except I know it's not the dog's fault."

Johnson walked back over. "Hey, Maddie." The kid had taken to calling her by her nickname. "Sorry you've got neighbors that don't clean up after their pets."

"Me too. What can I say? Mister Rogers didn't adequately prepare me for the people I'd meet in my neighborhood." She set down her purse on Harvey's desk. Then she looked just to the side of her purse and blinked at the two shiny plastic packages of crotchless underwear.

Johnson scratched his head and pointed. "Oh, uh, those are-"

"Aw," she cooed, looking up at them. "You and Harvey exchanged your Valentine's Day gifts early." She reached up and patted Johnson on the cheek. "That's so sweet."

A deep red blush took over Johnson's face. "No, no, that's not..."

Harvey said, "Welp, cat's outta bag. Now she knows what we've been up to on all those late night stakeouts." He kept a serious look on his face as he said to Madeline. "You know, it's kinda a relief now that you finally know."

She feigned a look of sad acceptance. "Well, if it had to be someone, I'm glad it was Johnson."

Johnson flinched and frowned suddenly. "Hold up." He looked at both of them. "When's Valentine's Day?"

Madeline said, "It's tomorrow." When the kid groaned loudly, she said, "Don't worry. Harvey doesn't need anything fancy. And you already got him underwear in his favorite color."

Harvey rummaged through paperwork on his desk. "Not everyone can pull off magenta."

Johnson wore the face of a man who just realized that he'd screwed up royally. "That's why Tiffany got so pissed off last night." He shook his head. "She asked me what I was doing tomorrow and I told her that I was gonna get wasted with the guys after work."

Madeline stepped forward and said almost sympathetically, "Hey, look, you still have time. All you have to do is get a reservation at a nice place in town. I know it's the night before, but Harvey knows people."

Harvey responded with his out-of-patience voice. "Could you leave me outta this, please?"

She ignored him and spoke directly to Johnson. "Tell the waiter it's a special night. Get her some flowers. A little champagne. But most importantly? Act like you had it planned all along, like for months."

Johnson stood stock-still for a moment. Then the corners of his mouth dipped down in an impressed frown. "You know, that just might work."

Madeline said, "You really could go all out, if you wanted to. How long have you two been seeing each other?"

He stuttered. "Uh, you know, like, uh…" He looked to Harvey to help him out, and Harvey narrowed his eyes, a silent 'like I would know?' Johnson wagered an answer uncertainly. "Three… five months? Something like that?"

Madeline looked at his partner in stark disbelief. "You don't even know how long you've been dating her?"

Johnson opened his hands expansively. "I'm not good with facts."

She spared a moment to shock before she said, "... You're a homicide detective."

Harvey cleared his throat. "To be fair, anniversaries and where Valentine's Day falls on the calendar? Those aren't facts. That's chick trivia." Not that Johnson was exactly setting Gotham on fire with his brilliant deductions, but the point needed to be made.

Madeline again pretended she didn't hear what Harvey said. She was getting pretty good at that. She said to Johnson, "Well, either way, do something. Even if it's just making her dinner and getting her a nice card. Sometimes sentimental things mean the most."

"Nope, uh-uh," Johnson said with authority. "That girl said diamonds. The ones from that specialty shop uptown. Dondero's. They've got those blood diamonds. That's the kind she wants."

Harvey watched Madeline realize that she'd hit a wall and that even if she shared some insight, it wouldn't be put to good use. He so easily recognized it because he wore that same look on his face around Johnson. A lot. "Ah," Madeline said shortly. "Well, at least she drew you a road map."

Harvey stood and saddled up next to her. He nudged her, lowering his voice. "What am I gettin' for Valentine's Day?"

She looked up, considering something. "That can be… negotiated."

Harvey made a fist and pulled it down at his side with a whispered 'yeeessss'.

The kid looked at them oddly, squinted, and then made a noise of disgust. "Okay, that's just… gross."

Madeline gave Johnson with a bland shrug. "What? Sexual favors are like roses for men."

Harvey grinned, cat-who-ate-the-canary style at Johnson. "Do yourself a favor. Date a psychologist. Liberal. Open-minded."

She suddenly spoke in her high society dame voice that Harvey usually couldn't even start to tolerate. "Most of our conscious brain is concerned with getting along with others and making plans for the future." She said, "Unless you're Harvey. Then it's just 'when am I having sex?' And 'when am I having a sandwich?'"

Harvey said, "Not true. I also think about when I'm gonna have a drink and when I'm gonna get my paycheck."

Madeline shared with Johnson, shrink-style. "Just for future reference, once you creep up to your thirties a lot of those prerequisites and inhibitions just kind of start to go out the window. It's kind of freeing in a really… sad way."

Johnson raised his eyebrows at the two of them, his eyes glazed over in shock. He said to Madeline as he realized it. "You're as messed up as he is."

She breathed out a romantic sigh. "It's the fireworks that keep us together."

Harvey blurted out, "Now hold up a minute." He pointed at Madeline. "You are nowhere near as twisted as I am." He might not have many things to own, but he'd be goddamned if she was taking this from him. "You might take these cute little day trips into my filthy mind. But I'm a permanent resident. I've even got up a sign post. 'Now Entering Shameless Vile Gutter. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.'"

Madeline glanced down at her watch, unimpressed. "You done preachin' to the choir, Harv?"

Johnson pushed back his scruffy blonde hair from off his forehead. Then he looked at them both and said, "Okay, after watching you two? I now pledge never to get old."

She said, "He's think we're old." She pushed herself off the side of his desk and up to her feet. "That's adorable."

Harvey grabbed up his leather jacket. "You need me to make some calls for a last minute reservation you just let me know."

Johnson nodded, still looking overcome by the conversation that just transpired. "Thanks. I think I'm just gonna stand here and wait to regain consciousness."

Madeline scooped up her purse and they headed out. "Good luck with the blood diamonds."

Harvey turned around as they were leaving and pointed back to the desk. "While you're at it, you might wanna throw in a pair of those manties, just to keep things real."

Harvey and Madeline quietly took their leave. She barely made it out of the bullpen before a wheezing laugh burst out of her.

Harvey leaned down and mumbled. "I swear to Christ, the kid sets himself up for it every time."

She glanced over her shoulder and Harvey did the same. His partner stood with his mouth parted halfway open, and then he muttered something to himself for a moment. Madeline said, "He's on data overload. We fried his circuit board."

"Nah," Harvey drew out. "He'll be fine." He spun them back around, lazily looping an arm around her waist. "I liked the part about sex acts being roses for men. That was on point."

"I know. I can't believe he bought that."

Harvey halted in his tracks as Madeline kept right on walking. "What's that supposed to meant? I mean, we're still gonna negotiate that, right? … Right?"

She did a good job of pretending that she didn't hear what he said.


	12. Lady Marmalade

7 Years Prior

Harvey rounded the corner with his partner, Johnson, on his heels. Even though it was well past midnight, throngs of people congregated on the streets. Harvey mentally counted the weapons on each person passing by in a practiced, semi-conscious way, all while he felt more than heard the booming stereo of a tricked-out car that rolled past. As they made their way down the sidewalk, he breathed in the rich, pungent aroma of sewage, garbage, and exhaust, his right hand playing pocket pool with his wallet. Gotham, thy name is paranoia.

Johnson kept pace, saying, "What're we doin' on this side of town?"

"We need a little more inside information on these Russian pieces of shit tryin' to blow half this city to kingdom come."

Johnson frowned. "I thought we closed those cases."

"We did," he said, not bothering to hold back his aggravation. "Now we got a brand spankin' new one. Same brand of criminal, same territory, same type of boom boom sticks." It was like outtakes from Groundhog Day up in his caseload.

Johnson said, "Think we got a copycat type situation?"

"No, I don't," Harvey said. "You ever mow the lawn and take out all the dandelions? Then two days later, those bitches pop right back up?" When Johnson gave an obligatory nod, he said, "I'm done weed-whacking. It's time to get to the root of this thing."

They headed into Miss Mooney's nightclub, a clean, opulent establishment that didn't need a name, only her trademark - the neon-outlined bones of a fish. Harvey led Johnson through the restaurant and up the carpeted stairs to the second floor. They stopped as they hit a burgundy velvet rope barrier with chrome hooks, where a walking mountain guarded the entrance.

Harvey stepped up, smiling friendly-like. "Hey Bruno." He shook the man's hand. "How's the wife?"

Bruno's unhooked the entrance for them. He sighed out in a huff, "Pregnant again."

"Mazel Tov," he said, ignoring the man's blatant disappointment.

Bruno asked, "You call ahead?"

"Not this time," Harvey said. "Miss Lolita around?"

The man stepped aside to let both Harvey and Johnson pass. "All the way in the back."

"Thanks, brother." As they walked through, Harvey called over his shoulder. "Next time you're on a break the beer's on me."

Bruno said, "I need something stronger than that."

"I know that's right!" Harvey swanked down a softly lit hallway painted the blush color of a pink rose. As he and Johnson walked forward, half-dressed women of varying ages, races, and station traipsed past, some leading men forward, some leading women forward, some sending come-hither glances their way.

Harvey took the hand of a tall girl with an hourglass figure and kissed her hand as he passed. "Hey, Stella." He took her in aesthetically. "You been goin' to the gym, girl?"

"Three times a week," she cooed back.

"Glad somebody's goin'," he said, peering over his shoulder as she walked away. "Don't work out too hard! You're perfect just the way you are!"

Harvey grinned next at a short, tiny thing with big eyes and long hair extensions. "Hey, beautiful. You bein' good?"

She hurried past, saying, "Not if I can help it."

Johnson looked on as Harvey greeted nearly every lady in there in a similar fashion. His partner said, "So did they at least give you a loyalty card?"

Harvey breathed out nostalgically. "Lotta good times in these halls. Time well spent."

Johnson said, "I bet that's not all you spent here."

He made a short noise of appreciation as a severe-looking woman roughly pulled a man wearing a spiked collar down the hall by a leash. "Thank God for strong, militant women."

"You're joking, right?"

"About a lotta things but never about that. Dip me in honey and throw me to the dominatrix."

Johnson said, "I think I officially know too much about you and your deviant lifestyle."

"Watch it with the sticks and stones, short round. You get through four or five years on the force without collecting a souvenir kink or two. Then we'll talk."

Johnson stared forward down the hall, and Harvey watched the kid's mouth drop open. Harvey whispered harshly. "Look away. Now."

His partner averted his eyes, and at the same time, Mayor James brushed past them before he disappeared around the corner.

Johnson waited until the Mayor was out of earshot. "Did you just see-"

"No," Harvey ruled. "I didn't see. We didn't see anything because he isn't here and we're not here, you get me?"

Johnson put up his hands. "Point taken."

From the end of the hallway, a sweet, husky voice called out. "If it isn't Harvey Bullock."

A smitten smile swept across his face as they approached an older, voluptuous woman of Hispanic descent with long flowing dark curls wearing a tight cream-colored bustier that paired nicely with her cappuccino skin tone. "Be still my heart, mamacita. Tell me somethin'. How do you manage to get more and more gorgeous every time I see you?"

Lolita swayed her hips as she made her way up to them. "Shouldn't you wait to say that until you're sure I've got something you want?"

She teed him up nicely to say 'you've always got something I want'. Harvey changed it up, saying, "You know me, darlin'. I don't hold back." He tapped the space right above his heart with two fingers. "I speak from mi corazon."

Lolita watched him, a bemused smile in place, as she tried to read him. Then she nodded at his partner. "Who's this hombre you've got with you?"

"Detective Johnson Pickering. Rookie extraordinaire."

Lolita stepped up closer to Johnson. "Is that right? You lookin' for some company?"

Johnson said, "You girls don't want me. I'm broke as a joke."

Harvey half-smiled, and then watched Lolita look his partner him up and down, not so much in a sexual way but more as if evaluating a product she may want to purchase. She looked back up at Johnson when she finished. "You ever need extra cash, you should talk to Miss Mooney. She'll put you to work up here."

The kid's face lit up, and he stood up straighter, clearly taking it as a compliment. "Oh yeah? You think I'm gigolo material?"

Harvey shook his head. Apparently equal opportunity had now hit every corner of Gotham.

Lolita lowered her voice. "That all depends what you're packing."

"I don't disappoint," the kid said proudly.

Lolita smiled a little. "I'm sure you don't, muchacho. But they still gotta test-drive you before they buy you off the lot."

Johnson looked at Harvey. "Hear that? I coudla been gettin' paid this whole time."

"Yeah, well, if this whole detective thing doesn't pan out, it's good to know you've got options." Harvey sent Lolita an inviting stare. "Can I steal a little bit of a lady's time?"

She brightened, took him by the hand, and led him down the hallway. "Something tells me you're gonna steal more than that."

Harvey called over his shoulder to Johnson. "If you go full Deuce Bigalow by the time I get back, let me know. We'll get you business cards."

Once Lolita got him behind closed doors, Harvey kept himself standing and leaned against the wall, out of her grasp. He said, "You know nobody loves mixing business with pleasure quite like me. But tonight I gotta keep my nose clean."

Lolita backed up and pursed her lips just slightly. "You're not kidding, are you? You find Jesus, Harv?"

"I already found him. He's workin' as a night janitor down at the Cineplex." Harvey followed up quickly saying, "I was wondering what you know about this new talent Falcone's got. Last I heard the Russian mob's under new management. By name of Dimitri Codmolov." He handed her a picture that he'd taken from the notice board by his desk. It showed a headshot of a Russian man with a cold smile and a jawline so sharp it could slice a piece of printer paper in half. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Lolita held up the photograph to her eye level. "You're not wrong about the name. I've heard Codmolov's the one at the top. But if this is him, I wouldn't know. I've definitely never seen him before."

That still left him with lots of _preguntas _, not many answers. "What about the soldiers he's got on payroll? They ever start to drink, get a little chatty after hours?"__

__The woman handed back the picture and then crossed her arms underneath her ample bust. "Not really … They're loud with their swag, just not about their business. Those Russians always got stacks of cash in their wallets. They're wearing heavier jewelry. They're pimping out all their rides at some body shop on the south side of town, and they're up here every other night. They buy this place out."_ _

__"Where they gettin' that kinda coin?"_ _

__Lolita said, "Racketeering, gambling, large part of the heroin trade, too. You name it. They got it."_ _

__Harvey frowned a little at the information. That meant Dimitri was taking over territories left and right and making money hand over fist. That also explained how his men were getting away with setting off bombs willy nilly without winding up hung and quartered in the town square. Falcone liked to keep civilians out of his business … But he liked making money just a little bit more. Cash was king, and if Mother Russia was raking in the Benjamins, they might have just enough to buy themselves carte blanche._ _

__Harvey asked, "How're they buying up all that real estate?"_ _

__She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "Those Russian bendejos are loca en el cabeza. They aren't afraid to light up some dynamite to run you out of town, comprende?"_ _

__Well, that was one way to win Monopoly. Any weapon you took out of the whammy drawer could put someone's lights out with the right amount of force. But at least those sorta blades, brass knuckles, and firearms hit their mark. Bombs were a little less discerning of bystanders._ _

__Lolita seemed to read his face, and Harvey said, "That's bad news for the good people of Gotham." He said, "And it ain't exactly great news for the rest of us scoundrels either."_ _

__She cocked her head. "Gotham's got good people now?"_ _

__He smiled at her. "It does so long as I've got you in city limits."_ _

__She inched toward him and again she got no physical response from Harvey. Squinting at him, she said, "What is -up- with you, guapo? You got me goin' like…" Then she trailed off as she studied him. "Oh no."_ _

__"Oh no, what?"_ _

__Lolita's face broke into an all-out grin. "... You got somebody tryin' to wife you, don't you?"_ _

__Harvey scratched his head. "We're not exactly buying drapes, but…"_ _

__"Awwww!" She squealed and squeezed his arm. "Harvey, that is so sweet!"_ _

__"Yeah, well, keep it on the down low. I gotta reputation to keep."_ _

__"Your secret's safe with me. Good luck keepin' it from the girls here though. They don't miss much."_ _

__"You're tellin' me." Harvey winked and shelled out a couple twenties. "For your trouble."_ _

__"For you it's never trouble," she said, accepting the cash._ _

__Harvey got himself out of there, but not before getting one more good glance at Lolita. Because no matter who was trying to wife him up, he still had warm blood in his veins._ _

__Once their business was settled, Harvey whistled over to his partner, and Johnson skipped to it, joining him at his side. Johnson asked, "You hear something?"_ _

__"Not what I wanted to hear," he said. "But yeah, I got something."_ _

__Bruno opened the velvet rope for them, and as they walked through, Harvey saw a familiar face ascend the stairs. Fish Mooney power-walked towards them with her right-hand man, Butch Gilzean, by her side. She looked especially fresh and beautiful this evening, dressed in fine, sharp, and tastefully revealing clothing._ _

__Fish Mooney's arresting eyes met his, and a warm smile touched her lips. "Welcome back, detective," she said._ _

__He tipped his hat. "'Evening, ma'am."_ _

__"You're not over here starting trouble, are you?"_ _

__As Harvey reached her, he said in a luring voice. "Why? Are you lookin' for some?"_ _

__Fish hummed a short laugh as she paused at the top of the stairs. "I'll trust you found everything you needed here."_ _

__Harvey stopped at the stairs, too. He wondered if she meant something more by what she said. There were cameras pointed all over her place, and for all he knew, she had a front row seat for his little chat with Lolita. Harvey kept things light. "At Fish Mooney's? Always. I'm singing your praises on the streets."_ _

__That kept her smile in place. "Is that right?"_ _

__"If you had a Yelp page, I'd give you five stars, but since you don't, I gotta be a walking advertisement for this place. I tell 'em run don't walk."_ _

__She moved past him, appearing to glide even though she wore those stiletto heels. "See you next time, detective."_ _

__"Not if I see you first."_ _

__Harvey was about to head down the stairs when he heard Fish bellow out behind him, "You!" She charged forward at a mustachioed man in his thirties, and Butch jacked him up against the wall as easily as if the man had been a rag doll. Fish brandished a twisted, shining knife, looking like she was ready to cut him up like a totem pole. She moved right up against him. "Where's my money, mother fucker?"_ _

__Johnson frowned, and Harvey all but dragged him down the stairs. His partner kept looking over his shoulder as they made their exit. He asked, "What the hell was that?"_ _

__"Nothin' that's any of your business," Harvey said._ _

__They stepped back out into the streets, and Harvey found himself relieved to hear Johnson focusing back on their case. "What's our next move?"_ _

__"Same as the last one," he grumbled, mentally rolling through his checklist of CIs and sources. "More legwork."_ _

__(x)_ _

__The next day, Harvey hunched over his desk, his head propped up by his hand, exhaustion wearing him like a glove. This was why he liked his cases like he liked his B-movie monsters. Ground into meatdust, dead, and buried. Cue the credits. He didn't have time for this back for the sequel bullshit._ _

__Johnson brought over two cups of coffee and handed one to Harvey. He accepted it gratefully. The kid's brow furrowed when he said, "No luck getting info from the bomb squad. They're as clueless as we are."_ _

__Harvey murmured to himself, "Had to give it a shot." Just like that, they were back at square one._ _

__Johnson said, "Well, we know they're targeting rival gangs and trying to gain territory."_ _

__He said, "That's good. That narrows it down to, oh, around two thousand illegal sites in operation at any given point in time."_ _

__"Maybe we should roll through town and start throwin' darts. We might hit one."_ _

__That earned Johnson a smirk. "Yeah, well. Welcome to Gotham."_ _

__He frowned. "If it's between the Russians and some other random gang, why're we even gettin' involved?"_ _

__Harvey looked up at him. "Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to sit this one out. Normally I'd say let 'em all blow themselves sky high, and we can do clean up later. Except bombs aren't exactly sniper rifles or pocket knives or throwing stars. They've got radius, and radius means collateral damage up the wazoo." Harvey knew that meant more dead bodies, more next of kin calls, more paperwork, and more powwows up in the Captain's office. "Screw that noise. We gotta find these jackoffs."_ _

__At that moment, Edward Nygma scurried up the stairs to their desks. He sent a beaming, delightful grin to both of them. "Detective Pickering. Detective Bullock. I located and studied the evidence found at the last crime scene that was nearly identical to this one."_ _

__Harvey breathed a silent sigh against his closed mouth._ _

__This guy._ _

__He stood there expectantly, pushing up his lab-geeky glasses. Harvey obliged, "What've you got for me, Ed?"_ _

__Ed's grin widened, and Harvey knew what was coming. The way Ed sprung to life like that always made him look like somebody just put a quarter in him. "I start with an e. I end with an e. But I contain only one letter. What am I?"_ _

__Harvey felt his right hand tighten into a fist. "You're officially in a health crisis, Ed. This is your one warning."_ _

__Johnson stood up straight, his eyes widening. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, wait. I know this one."_ _

__Ed excitedly focused all his attention on Harvey's partner. "Let's hear it, detective."_ _

__Johnson said, "It's … an Antelope."_ _

__"No," Ed said, some of his glee fading. "That doesn't start with an e. And it definitely doesn't contain-"_ _

__"It's an eagle?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__Harvey ran a hand down his face as his twenty-four-hour headache kicked the intensity up a notch. Then he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Harvey looked to the right and caught Captain Sarah Essen's eye as she went to pass by their desks._ _

__Essen slowed in her tracks just slightly, and Harvey opened up his arms in contempt, showing her his complete exasperation. He tried to make his look say, 'See this shit I'm surrounded by?'_ _

__She granted him a tired, sympathetic glance, but continued on her path to her office. No doubt to deal with headaches bigger than Harvey's and not to mention way outside his pay grade. He reminded himself to be grateful her job wasn't his, and he turned his attention back to the comedic styling of Abbott and Costello._ _

__Epiphany lit up Johnson's face. "It's a an eclipse. 'Cause it's dark. Am I right?"_ _

__Ed frowned. "Uh...no."_ _

__Holy moly. Johnson was out-Nygmaing Nygma. When the universe didn't cancel itself out, Harvey decided it was time for a hard reset. He snapped in frustration, "Do I look like I'm gettin' any younger over here, Ed?"_ _

__Edward Nygma jumped in place at Harvey's raised voice, and he handed Harvey a white … "Envelope," he said. "The answer is an envelope."_ _

__He accepted it from him and found a small piece of lined paper inside. He read over the note. "What's with the grocery list?"_ _

__Ed explained, "That would be a list of ingredients someone would need to build the bombs from the last crime scene. And everything on that list you'd need in fairly large quantities."_ _

__Johnson walked around to read over his shoulder. "So they'd need a space where they could bring in palettes of this stuff and nobody would blink, right?"_ _

__Harvey raised his eyebrows at the halfway-intelligent question._ _

__Ed said, "Correct. So you'd be looking for a warehouse, a storage space, a hardware store..."_ _

__Harvey sat all the way up as memory assisted him. "What about a body shop?"_ _

__Ed perked up, "Or a body shop." He stared off and then nodded decisively. "If I were building bombs, that's probably what I'd go with. Not to mention, the noises of the car repairs in a mechanic's shop could cover up any minor mishaps. Manufacturing C-4 can get a little … loud if you don't have sufficient experience."_ _

__Harvey stood up and put on his coat and hat. "C'mon," he said to Johnson. "We're heading to the south side of town. Our girl at Fish Mooney's said something about that last night."_ _

__Johnson got himself ready to go. "How many car shops they got out there?"_ _

__"I don't know," Harvey said. "But we're gonna knock 'em down like dominos." He clapped Ed hard on the back as he passed. "Thanks for the help, Ed. I owe you one."_ _

__Ed grinned proudly. "Good luck, detectives. Just trying to have an _impact_. Glad I didn't _bomb out_."_ _

__Though he heard the puns, Harvey raced off to investigate, so intent on getting out the door that he didn't even waste time mouthing off a wisecrack before they left._ _


	13. More Than Words

7 Years Prior

"Hold still."

Harvey held back a wince as Madeline generously doused his left bicep with hydrogen peroxide. She'd obviously just taken a shower and hadn't bothered to dry her hair, which left her whole apartment smelling refreshingly of girly bath products. As she dabbed his arm with a gauze pad, he looked her up and down. She wore the pajamas that always reminded him of red velvet cake, an off-white tank-top and dark red bottoms. All of which told Harvey she'd probably been getting ready to turn in before he called her up. Now she sat next to him, administering first aid at her kitchen table, cleaning up a shallow but nasty surface wound he'd denied medical care for back at the crime scene.

In the end it hadn't taken all night to locate the body shop. It only felt like it. Once they found the Russians, Harvey got to know the shop and its owners intimately. He managed to fall off an out-of-service cherry picker while locked in a fight with one of their explosion experts. Thankfully, Johnson kicked into full-on beast mode and effectively doled out a one-two punch before the dirtball could brain him with a tire iron. When all was said and done, they brought in their perps without exploding themselves and half to block to bits. Which reminded Harvey that he probably should've stopped to play the lottery before he got to her place.

The sound of Madeline ripping off a long length of gauze raised him out of his thoughts, and he watched her wrap up the wound as best she could. When she finished, she let off a satisfied sigh. "Let the healing begin."

Harvey had to hand it to her. She was getting pretty good at this Florence Nightingale thing.

She said, "Looks like you came into contact with some real prizewinners today."

"They were your regular run-of-the-mill nutjobs. 'Nuff said."

"Did you close the case?" She asked, knowing by now that this was always the goal in mind.

"Open and shut." Much as it could be with the current state of things anyway.

"Nice work, Detective Bullock."

When she called him that, it always got him going a little. "That oughtta keep Essen off my back for at least a day or two."

She inhaled deeply as she set aside the gauze and peroxide. "Well, we all know how the GCPD loves their business metrics."

Harvey rubbed his eye. "Yeah, well. Numbers never lie and all that shit."

Madeline frowned a little as she gave him a once-over. "How 'bout you, soldier? You okay?"

"It's been a bitch of a day." He tried to make his expression easy and took her hand in his. "But my night's turnin' around. Now that I got you here."

She squeezed his hand back. "You wanna tell me about it?"

"Not much to tell," he said flatly. He worked up another bypass. "How was your day at Club Fed?"

"I played nice with all the other crazies." Madeline stared at him straight on, and when nothing else was forthcoming, she said, "Harvey, you're not saying much, but everything else about you is."

Shock and surprise. She was trying to back him up into a closed session again. He held up his left arm. "What? You're worried about this? That's minor."

"It doesn't look minor."

He joked, "For all you know, I coulda gotten this when I tripped chasing down the taco truck." The way the food trucks in Gotham pulled him in like a moth to the flame, it really was just a matter of time before that actually happened. As such, he decided the deflection wasn't a complete lie-

"Liar," she said calmly and that had Harvey shaking his head.

"Don't play tag, doc."

She kept her voice even, but there was a warning brimming just beneath. "Don't be a jackass. When I'm trying to help you."

Harvey made an uncomfortable noise at that. She was like a bulldozer with the impromptu psychoanalysis shit lately. Though somewhere he understood that it didn't help that he was an old-school Irish hooligan, raised to believe that what a man doesn't talk about is no one's business but his own.

Madeline seemed to sense his frustration. She scooted up her chair right beside his, bridging them together, and gently wrapped her arm around him. The movement caused him to physically relent, and he mirrored the gesture, moving his hand to her waist. He rested his chin against the top of her damp head of red hair, and he fixed his stare on the far wall of her apartment.

Her voice remained soft and quiet. "I'm not trying to push you."

Again his first instinct was to fire off a zinger. Bull _shit_ , he managed not to say. Like hell you aren't.

She continued, "But somebody went after you today. And apparently, it was..." She glanced at his arm. "Brutal."

"You don't need to hear about that sort of mayhem."

"Right," she said. "Because it's not like I listen to every brand of criminal tell me what they've got on their minds every Monday through Friday."

Harvey tried not to actually think about that and stuck to the matter at hand. "That's what I'm sayin'. You already got your double dose of crazy for the day. You don't need me tippin' the scales."

"If anybody gets a double dose of crazy, it's you." Madeline backed up so that she was looking at him again. "If it was just the craziness outside your office, that'd be one thing. But I see you in that station." The way she said the words got his complete attention. "I see you work with all these cops who don't give a shit and who are crooked as fuck and not as good as you. And you just … take it on the chin and roll through your day, because you… sort of have to if you're gonna do what you do." Her voice cracked slightly when she said, "And then I think about you going through all of it alone. It doesn't feel right. It just feels heavy and sad. You know?"

Then Harvey pulled her closer to him. Something about holding her when she talked like that. It… "Last time I checked I ain't goin' through it alone."

She smiled a little at that, but as she sunk down into thought, her smile faded just as quickly as it appeared. "I just watch it all day," she said in a far off voice. "How that type of stress leaves its mark. And you can try to push that stuff into the back of your mind and cut yourself off from what you're feeling. But those kind of things have a way of creeping back out again."

Harvey didn't even want to start to think about what that meant for the black box of his mind if she happened to be right about 'those kind of things'. She re-positioned herself so she leaned against his shoulder. He said, "So that's what you're up to all day in those sessions, huh? You're helping people clear out those back closets upstairs?"

"No," she said softly. "I'm helping people see themselves for what they really are."

The words caught him up short. He felt his brow furrow. "You sure that brand of truth is what people need?" It sounded like it would check more people into the psych ward than check them out of it.

"Well…" She didn't have an immediate answer. "I suppose every person needs to decide how much truth they can stand."

Before it knocks a couple screws loose that can't be screwed back. "Here's the thing. Some people ain't got no truth in 'em. They'll lie about what cereal they had for breakfast that morning just because it's their basic operating protocol." He nodded to her. "What's the prescription for those folks?"

"I think I might just write 'Harvey Bullock' on that script," she said, her smile returning. "I'm the scenic route, but some people need the expressway."

Ain't that the truth.

She backed up a little into her chair. "Look, all I'm trying to say is … I get the whole I'm-a-guy-and-I'm-a-cop-and-I-don't-need-life-advice-thankyouverymuch. But when somebody tells you to 'be strong' or 'be a man', what they're really saying is 'don't have feelings.'" She said, "And there's just no point in trying to be that way with me 'cause I see right through that shit."

Harvey raised his eyebrows to himself at that one. He waited for the intensity of that moment to wane, and once it did, he sucked in a deep breath and stretched out his worn-out arms and back. Extending his arms all the way up, he said, "I wouldn't worry yourself about that one."

"Hm. Why's that?"

He relaxed his arms and spoke as if stating the obvious, "I already know no matter what I do, it ain't gonna stop you from gettin' all up in my brain tubes."

She nodded her absolute agreement. "Well, I'm a little emotionally invested when it comes to you. If you couldn't tell."

That got him smiling. "How much do I owe you for the session?"

Madeline sighed as their time in the sharing circle came to a close. "I suppose we can end for today. So long as you come back for a tune-up from time to time." She put it promptly. "The mind is a complicated place."

He grinned at her wickedly. "I'll keep you busy." He tapped his finger up against his temple. "I got all sorts of wild thoughts brewing up there."

She smirked. "There's one thing I'll never have to dig for."

"You wanna root around, that's all you, sweetheart. All I can say is watch your step. Never know what you're gonna find."

They both jolted a little at a loud knock on Madeline's door.

She looked at her watch. "And it only took an hour and a half."

Harvey hopped to his feet. Saved by the cheesy bread. "Further proof that pizza delivery cars should have sirens."

Madeline turned on the television and brought over two beers, which coupled with the pepperoni pizza was a perfect trifecta if Harvey ever heard of one. She insisted on watching one of those procedural FBI dramas she so loved. Harvey had a theory that she mainly put them on because she enjoyed seeing him groan, yell impatiently at the characters, and correct the plot line throughout its forty-eight minute hour.

Any further conversational interruptions were low and calm and cool on Madeline's part, and his fragile mind was grateful. The past twenty-four hours had been long, and his brain was toast. After they finished off most of the pizza, Madeline positioned herself against him in a way that gave him perfect access for his eyes to wander down the V of her tank-top, which made his evening complete.

Sitting there curled up beside her on the couch, Harvey felt his shoulders relax and his breathing become slow and regular. All throughout his day and night, the deep recesses of Gotham had been angry, stirring, and restless. But something about being in the quiet of her apartment put up a solid blockade, locking all the noises out.

In the blue glow of the television and in the warmth of her arms, Harvey's mind closed up shop and went dark.


	14. Come a Little Closer

7 Years Prior

Dr. Madeline Scott stepped into the sparsely decorated 'therapy room'. It looked more like an abandoned office space, and it had all the charm of a storage unit. The six-by-six room boasted blinding florescent lights, two rusty folding chairs, and a collapsible card table that weighed about ten pounds altogether give or take. At some point, someone set up an old sixties style accent lamp on the table. The dull burlap lampshade was frayed and askew, and the lamp itself didn't turn on because there wasn't a light bulb inside it. Madeline was certain the space doubled as an interrogation room, as evidenced by the wide, thick one-way glass window behind them. The white-washed walls were paper thin, so the loud, obnoxious buzz of an industrial strength door locking and unlocking from a few feet down sounded every three or four minutes.

But all those elements were just background. She kept herself focused on an inmate who had graying brown hair and cold watery eyes that shone out from behind rounded horn-rimmed spectacles. There were two guards that stood watch outside the room, and they insisted he be handcuffed during his sessions. Madeline knew why.

By occupation, Jack Buchinsky broke into and out of banks for extra cash flow. But in his downtime, he liked to rape people and after that he liked to kill them.

She sat down across from him. This was their tenth session, and Madeline was getting to know the hidden rules that he lived by. Thoughts of vengeance were common for anyone trapped in a cage, but the man across from her took revenge to new lofty heights. The more she learned, the more it confirmed for her that she'd been right worry about what would be revealed once she started to look behind his sharp, condescending exterior.

Jack scrutinized her, not bothering to hide his intrusive gaze. "You're looking spry today, doctor."

She kept her face neutral and ignored the comment. "Is there anything you'd like to start with today, Mr. Buchinsky?"

"Well," he drew out. "I do believe that I asked you to call me Jack."

He knew that she had to pick her battles and that she wouldn't pick this one. It set her teeth on edge. "All right. Jack."

He nodded, an unspoken 'good girl'.

Madeline asked, "So, how are you feeling?"

Jack's piercing stare bore through her. "That's quite the stereotypical therapy question."

"I like to think of it as classic."

His lips curled into an unsettling smile. "I feel nebulous."

"Do you mean that you feel hazy or confused or both?"

"I feel like I'm in a waking dream most the time. The world looks indistinct." He flexed his hands inside the cuffs. "I get pins and needles."

She crossed her legs and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, all while looking down. She did so to give herself a moment to think before she made her next conjecture. "So, you're mentally numb and physically numb."

Jack looked to the side in consideration. Then he returned his gaze and leaned in closely as he gave his answer. "Soul numb."

Madeline felt the urge to back away, but instead she kept very still. She reminded herself that she wasn't in any immediate physical danger. "Does this nebulous, soul numb feeling have anything to do with the thoughts you reported having last time?"

"Could you remind me of our last session? Five years of Thorazine dulls the brain."

Madeline spoke in a dry, even tone. "The thoughts about stealing a rasp from the prison workshop and taking advantage of the guard who you've noticed works double shifts. You said it would only be a matter of time before he-"

"Before he drifts off without intending to do so," Jack finished as memory assisted him. "Yes. I do remember saying that now."

"You said thinking like that was troublesome."

"Bothersome," he corrected. "It's interesting that you categorize them as thoughts."

Madeline blinked, momentarily taken aback by the statement. "Well, uh. What would you call them?"

"I'd call them more of a fantasy myself, a flight of imagination on my part."

It became difficult to maintain the quiet confidence in her voice, but she understood how important it was to hide her fear. "Are any more of these flights of imagination bothering you?"

"I did have another fantasy this past week," he said. "I wouldn't, however, say it's bothering me."

The last thing Madeline wanted was to invite him to elaborate further, but the more detailed specifics he told her about the plots he devised against the guards, the less danger there would be. "Could you tell me more about that?"

"I could," he said drawing out the last word. As he answered, Madeline picked up just then that something in the air around her changed. A spark shone more brightly in his watery eyes. "But you're not going to like it."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's about you." When she didn't immediately ask a follow-up question, he continued, "It's the middle of the night. I have the prison call you because I'm … distraught. Because you're young and dedicated, you come here, not immediately, but within a short length of time. It's off schedule so they'll forget to cuff me. You'll consider reminding them…but then you decide that might cost you progress with us building rapport and trust. At night I've noticed that they only have one guard on duty on this floor. I make sure it's a night when Wilson Bishop has this post. He's the one who works in the prison workshop, the one who-"

"Works double shifts." Madeline heard how drained of energy her own voice had become. Now she sounded nebulous.

"Right," Jack said, as if encouraging a student who had just suddenly shown potential. "I use the rasp on myself first, cutting my wrists. I fall down to the floor hard on my knees. I'm bleeding, a lot, and you don't react at first." He discoursed in a light, casual way as if he were describing the tiles or paint color of the room. "You can't. How could you? You've never seen that much blood before in your life. You just … freeze. Somewhat like you are now, but even more excessively. Eventually, the reality of what's happening sinks in. You run to the door and call for the guard. He's dozed off, so it takes him at least thirty seconds longer to react than it would have otherwise. While you're attracting the attention of the guard, I stand up. The cuts on my wrists are nowhere as deep as you initially assessed. You're easy to pull backward, because you don't see it coming. That's when I slice the rasp across your throat. Not so deep that it would kill you. That's…"

He broke into a fresh throe of laughter, as if he found the very idea absolutely ridiculous, and when he did, Madeline unconsciously flinched. "It would be unnecessary. Just enough to disable you and to shock the guard. That's the part I can't control, of course. I'd need to know more about Wilson Bishop, how easily or likely he is to experience shock. If he is stunned still, which is really what this all relies on, I'd kill him cleanly, quietly. Then I'd take his keys. I've noticed this room where we meet is on the far end of the prison. I believe I could use his keys to get through the doors before anyone could react. I'd climb up the fence. I'd have to move quickly, at breakneck speed really, and then I'd use the rasp to pin down the barbed wire at the top. I know it's risky and unlikely to end in my favor. But I suppose that's why I wouldn't call it a thought." He breathed out a relaxed, thoughtful breath. "It's much more a fantasy."

Madeline stared forward, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, hearing only her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her mouth hung partway open, empty of a response.

Jack looked at her with concern. "Now see, doctor?" He clucked his tongue in mock disappointment. "I knew you weren't going to like it."

In measured but deliberate movements, Madeline stood up from her chair and walked back to the doorway. Without taking her eyes off of him, she hit the panic button, saying, "Guard?"

(x)

Madeline awoke with a start.

Sitting bolt upright, she stared forward into the familiar darkness of her bedroom. Her breathing was a mess, and when she placed her right hand against her chest, she felt her heart pounding wildly. Sliding carefully off the mattress, Madeline tip-toed to the other side of the room and lifted the window open a crack.

An icy breeze whistled in from the open window and cooled the sweat on her brow. The rain shower stopped quite some time ago, but the air still held its refreshing, clean scent. She quietly rummaged around in the top drawer of her dresser, before she pulled out a torn open, crumbled pack of cigarettes. Crouching down by the window, she tapped one out and lit up. She breathed in deeply and the simple action steadied her nerves. Inhale, exhale, repeat.

After she smoked it down to the filter, Madeline put out the cigarette, closed the window, and noiselessly climbed back into bed.

Just as she was certain that she'd managed to settle without waking him, beside her, Harvey stirred, bleary and half-awake. "S'matter?"

"Nothin'." She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Go back to sleep."

He groaned as he rolled over. He sniffed the air and said, "Thought you were done with the death sticks."

"That's the thing about cigarettes. The longer you go without one, the better they taste."

"That's the thing about everything half-way bad for you."

She stared up at the ceiling and listened to the cars on the road slickly drive through rain puddles.

Still half-asleep, Harvey lifted a heavy arm up and pulled her close. She nestled against him, resting her head in the nook between his head and right shoulder.

Even though he had every right to drift back to sleep, he said. "S'other places to work."

"Mmm," she said, agreeing. "Too bad I don't want to work at those other places."

Harvey said, "You need me to punch someone in the throat, you let me know."

Madeline smirked. They'd been down that road before, but she kindly reminded him, "Sending in your cop boyfriend to rough up one of your clients is generally frowned upon in my profession."

Harvey muttered something about how he'd use another word other than 'client' to describe them.

She breathed out a gusty sigh. "This one guy tested me today, and I failed pretty spectacularly."

"No, you didn't," he said with authority. "You're not gonna make things any worse for those mopes than they already are."

"He tried to get under my skin, and it worked. I got myself outta there faster than you can say 'life without parole'."

Harvey said, "Sounds like you played it right to me."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "The weird thing is... I sort of feel bad for him. The only way he ever connects with anyone is by scaring the living bejeezus out of them."

Even though he wasn't completely awake, Harvey knew better than to ask for names. She'd shut down that line of questioning months ago. Instead he shared a warning with her. "That's where it starts. You get comfortable. You're like the Ringling Brothers who got too chummy with that lion."

"His name was Roy."

"...The hell?"

Madeline said, "Siegfried and Roy. Roy was the one who ... got comfortable."

"Same difference," Harvey said. "Don't you forget they're mother fuckin' lions. You might be Gotham's best lion tamer, but to them, you're just their next meal."

The visuals no doubt should have sobered, perhaps even unsettled her. Instead, she found herself agreeing with the analogy, and it reminded her of what she'd initially planned on sharing with him in the morning. She found herself saying, "I've been thinking about the way things run at Blackgate. I want to bend the rules."

That woke Harvey up the rest of the way. He raked his hands through his hair, pushing the strands away from his face. As he did so, she readjusted, resting her elbow on the pillow and her hand against the side of her face, so that they were looking right at each other. "You lookin' to bring the hammer down?" When she didn't correct him, he asked, "Starting where?"

Madeline said, "They've got the guards working fourteen, sometimes fifteen-hour shifts to cut costs. And the inmates are catching on. It's just a matter of time before someone gets burned by it."

"Sounds like it ain't the first time you ran this through the hamster wheel upstairs." He nodded to her. "You got a play?"

"I've thought about bringing it to Grey's door. Thought about going to the Mayor's office. Calling up the Times, letting the press have a field day with it."

Harvey sat up fully and ran his hands over his face. "Christ Almighty…"

She squinted at him. "... What?"

He raised his voice and decreed, "As of right now, all of your decision-making privileges regarding power plays in Gotham are revoked until further notice."

Madeline rolled her eyes, muttering, "Gotta exaggerate everything. They weren't -that- bad."

"Let's just say those might be the worst ideas in history since Custer said, 'Those Injuns won't know what hit 'em. Tally ho.' or Nixon said, 'I hate taking notes. Let's use a tape recorder.'"

Madeline said, "I'm assuming this means you have a better idea?"

Harvey sent her a brassy smile. "Lucky for you, your sugar daddy's got a few connections." He softened his voice just slightly. "You went in the right direction with the Mayor's office. You just need a detour. Let me go see a friend of mine over in the Office of Legislative Affairs, see if I can pull some strings."

"You think that'll be enough to get things rolling?"

Harvey said. "Can't make any promises, baby doll. But give me tomorrow. I'll come back with a reading on this thing."

Madeline asked him, "What do you need me to do?"

He looked her dead in the eye. "For starters? Stay the hell off Grey's radar." He added in a sarcastic drawl, "For once."

"Would it help if I got my hands on a copy of the guard's schedules?"

"Only if you don't get caught."

Madeline settled back underneath the sheets. "Guess I'll have to be like you. And be careful."

He got more comfortable in bed, and Madeline did, too. "We can iron out the finer details of this master plan in the morning." He whispered in her ear, "Get some sleep, ya little hell raiser."

The cool side of the pillow pressed up against her cheek, and she could feel sleep lingering just outside her grasp. She yawned. "Takes one to know one…"

As she drifted asleep, thoughts slipped through her mind. Although she appreciated the plan he offered and the reason he spoke, it wasn't only the problem-solving that soothed her. It was his reassuring voice and how he reached out to hold her when she was feeling most vulnerable.

He made it safe for her to let go. Perhaps that was the world's single most powerful protection. The assurance that someone bigger and stronger is taking care of things, so you can go back to sleep.


	15. The Way We Get By

7 Years Prior

Harvey parked his car in the driveway and killed the engine. For a few moments, he and Madeline sat in silence in the front seat.

Finally he said, "Still time for us to turn back."

She said, "Nah, they had to have seen the headlights by now."

Harvey groaned a little. He answered her by opening up the car door and stepping out onto the driveway. Madeline followed him, carrying a bottle of wine with her. She clip-clopped across the leaf-covered asphalt and stepped carefully into the brown, frost-bitten lawn past an abandoned girl's bike and a sun-faded hula hoop.

He murmured to her as they walked forward. "I told you that you didn't have to get all dolled up, you know."

She whispered back with easy confidence. "It'll be fine."

He breathed out another groan, a little more belabored this time. He pulled back the screen door, knocked loudly, and opened the door. "Hey, Ma! It's me."

A purposefully faded sign on the door read 'Forget the dog. Beware the grandkids'. The first thought Madeline had as she stepped inside the house was that it was definitely lived in. She walked through a messy foyer, filled with shoes from all genders, ages, and occasions kicked off into a huge mountain. The yellow linoleum underneath looked like it had been installed sometime before the end of the Reagan administration.

Harvey led her into an '80s style kitchen steaming with the heat from the oven and three burners working at the same time. Madeline pinned the decor as rustic Irish farmhouse. Lots of calico, lots of chickens and cows, lots of doilies, lots of shamrocks. The house smelled musty and damp and a little sweet, a scent developed over decades of daily cooking and baking. A radio was on. The disembodied voice of Garth Brooks reminded them that he had friends in low places.

A stout, severe-looking woman turned around from the stove, her gray hair poorly disguised by a bronze dye job that was in desperate need of a touch-up. She wore an over-sized t-shirt and black fleece pants underneath a light blue, threadbare apron with faded lettering that said 'No bitchin' in Regina's kitchin' among the stains from at least a decade of meals.

Harvey walked over and dutifully kissed his mom's cheek. "Ma, this is Maddie. Maddie, Ma."

Regina looked her up and down, before she said in a raspy voice, "Hello."

"Nice to meet you." Madeline stepped forward and offered up the wine. "We brought you this."

She accepted the bottle, looked at it, and set it on the counter with a "thank you". The three of them stood there in silence that wasn't awkward, but was well on its way.

Madeline spoke up, "Whatever's cooking, it smells good." It would have been the right thing to say to be polite, except it was overwhelmingly true. Her mouth started to water and her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since her lunch at noon.

Regina said, "Pot roast. Cooks itself. For the most part."

She asked her. "Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

His mother wore a pasted smile. "No. I've got it. Thank you."

Madeline nodded cooperatively. She rolled through her mental collection of disarming responses, but she never wound up saying one. All too suddenly, the high-pitched, playful screams of children from the other room caught her attention. Two girls, both with Harvey's reddish, brownish hair burst noisily into the kitchen. The younger one, who had two front teeth missing, grinned widely and ran up to Harvey.

She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and Madeline watched him unsuccessfully try to hold back an adoring smile. The kid sang out, "Hey, Uncle Harvey."

Harvey picked her up effortlessly. "Hey, rugrat. You stayin' outta trouble?"

"Yes," she said proudly.

The other girl, clearly her sister, popped her hip and said in a sassy voice, "No, she's not."

The girl called over angrily, "Shut up, Kyra. No one asked you."

Kyra said, "You talk back to mom. Like all. The. Time."

Regina barked from the stove. "Kyra! Sophie!" Both girls jumped and fell silent. "Settle down, both of you!"

Madeline overheard Harvey murmuring to Sophie. "Heard about you makin' honor roll."

Then a high-pitched. "You did?"

"Yup. Atta girl." He set her down.

At the same time, Kyra squinted at Madeline and rested her hands on her hips. She said loudly, "Are you -really- Uncle Harvey's girlfriend?"

Madeline bent down to the girl's eye level. "I'm pretty sure. That's what I've been telling people anyway."

Kyra gave her a weird look. "You don't even -know- if you're his girlfriend?"

She worked to make herself look serious. "I'll tell you what. You look like you're sort of in charge here." Kyra's arched eyebrow said 'maybe, who wants to know?' and Madeline said, "Let me know at the end of tonight if you think I'm his type."

Like any true ten-year-old, she'd stopped listening some time ago. She grabbed Madeline's hand possessively. "You need to see a picture I drew."

Sophie gasped. "Then you have to see all my My Little Ponies!"

Madeline turned to Sophie. "They sound very important."

"No," she sighed out, as if Madeline had it all wrong. "They're just horses."

At the same time, Regina yelled at them. "All right! That's enough! Both you girls, get out of my kitchen!" The two children pulled Madeline away. Harvey started to follow after them, but his mother said to him, "Not you. You stay put."

Madeline was halfway down the basement stairs when Harvey turned back around.

(x)

Harvey watched his nieces claim Maddie for their own, before he walked back and leaned against the kitchen counter. He picked at a cheese and cracker plate by the sink as he asked in an already irritated voice. "What did I do now?"

His mom made a face. "Like I would know? I'm too busy keeping eyes on every other damn member of this family that comes through this house."

He popped a stacked cracker and cheese in his mouth. "That was a nice welcome by the way."

She started stirring a pot on the stove. "What? I said thank you." Then with some effort, she said, "She seems nice."

"Uh-huh."

Harvey waited for the next, and finally, she whispered back to him, "She looks uptown."

There it was. Always something. "She's from West Virginia. I don't even think that state has an uptown."

"Does she think you have money?" His mom spoke in a warning tone. "Because girls who look like that are always after money."

"She's seen the ramen noodles in the cupboards and the car that drove us over here. I think the secret's out."

At that moment headlights washed over the half-open window above the sink. Harvey looked out the window as his mother said, "'Bout time that girl got back here. I sent Jackie and the kids out to pick up dessert almost an hour ago."

He glanced at his mother. "Which kids we talkin' 'bout?"

"Brandon and Lily," she said. "They've been stayin' here with me past couple nights."

Harvey was about to ask why, when he caught the scene out the window and let out a loud wince. Jackie tried her hand at backing into the driveway next to his ride and inched ever closer to his bumper. He shouted out the window. "NO, CUT THE WHEEL! CUT THE-" He hurried back out the door. "Fuck, she's gonna hit my car."

Outside, he used flight attendant hands to motion Jackie's car next to his, and miraculously, she managed to park without smashing his ride all to hell. They made their way back inside together, and the kids hurried downstairs to the playroom to join the girls while Jackie put away the ice cream.

After welcoming her in and bullshitting around for a few moments, Harvey asked point blank. "Where's Amber?"

Jackie and his mother shared an unspoken look, and Harvey felt himself sigh. Instead of waiting, he asked, "What is it this time?"

His mother sent him a look. "How am I supposed to know? She doesn't call me. Unless she's askin' me to take her kids."

Jackie knew how to make herself up. She'd been a hairdresser and cosmetologist since she dropped out of high school. But whatever face paint she wore today didn't hide the exhaustion like it usually did. She said, "Whatever it is, it's not good."

Harvey frowned. "She in some kind of trouble?"

Jackie said. "We think she got fired-"

"We know she got fired," his mother said with sharp certainty. With a muttering growl, she took the pot of gravy off the stove. Jackie pushed past Harvey and dug through the cabinets until she found a white, chipped gravy boat. She brought it over to his mother, and she poured in the gravy all the way to the top.

Harvey didn't try to hide his skepticism. "So you know, huh? And just how do we know that?"

His sister said, "I drove by her place yesterday afternoon, and her car was still in her driveway."

His mother angrily took out the pot roast and slammed it down on top of the stove. "Amber still gets dressed up in her work clothes when she picks them up here. I don't care if she is an adult. I'm gonna slap her silly if she comes by like that tomorrow."

Jackie opened up her hands in frustration. "She said she could hold this last job down, but …"

Must have been harder than she thought. Harvey said, "So what? We're thinkin' it's the same shit as last time?"

His mother glared down at the potatoes in the pot. "Better goddamn not be."

Harvey made a noise of discomfort. Jackie looked at him. So he looked at her, and she looked right back at him. He said, "Stop givin' me that look."

"What look?"

"That look like I'm the one that's supposed to ferret out what's goin' on with this."

"Well, it couldn't exactly hurt. Now could it?"

"Yeah, 'cause Amber just loves havin' people all up in her shit. Minus her deadbeat husband." He muttered poisonously, "She just can't get enough of that asshat."

He watched his sister figure out that she couldn't disagree with that, and the three of them played chicken with the silence that followed. They both watched his mother work on putting the rest of dinner together. Then Jackie blinked rapidly as a thought struck her. She began searching the general vicinity. "I thought you were bringing your girlfriend with you."

He said, "I did. She got dragged away by the giggle twins."

A look of shock set up camp on his sister's face. "You sent her in there alone with those little monsters?" She gave a long-suffering sigh. "What's -wrong- with you?"

Harvey said, "Cool your jets. She's a psychologist. She can handle herself."

His response gave her pause. "A psychologist," she echoed thoughtfully. A few seconds went by before she decided that she couldn't help herself. "Yours?"

"Watch it. I'm not the nuthouse crazy lady who shaved half my head because Cosmo told me to."

Jackie rolled her eyes and flipped her hair. "It's a punk rock revival movement." She walked past him and headed down to the basement. "By the way, Indiana Jones called. He wants his look back. All you're missing is the bullwhip."

He shot back. "I figured you had brain surgery without telling me." He called after her, "Either that or I was in the Matrix!"

As Regina started stacking plates, she murmured to him, "I almost bought her a get well soon card."

Harvey barked off a laugh. "At least if my hand slips while I'm shaving, I'll be on trend." He started helping his mother set the table.

(x)

Two other children, no doubt Harvey's niece and nephew, joined Madeline and the girls downstairs. They introduced themselves as Lily and Brandon and looked like they weren't quite in high school yet. But with kids these days, Madeline had overestimated ages before. Kyra got them up to speed on the situation by saying with some suspicion, "We think this is Uncle Harvey's girlfriend."

Kyra and Sophie commanded her attention from there. Kyra took center stage showing Madeline her art portfolio, explaining that some were still in the early stage of aesthetic development with a "these aren't done yet".

Afterwards, Sophie introduced Madeline to each and every one of her My Little Ponies and explained all their complex relationships. She held up one distinctly male pony and one overwhelmingly feminine pony. "Flash really likes Twilight, but Twilight needs a boyfriend like a fish needs a bicycle."

Madeline just barely stopped herself from bursting out laughing. "Sounds like Twilight's got her priorities straight." At the same time, Kyra tied a thin, braided band made of rainbow-colored threads around Madeline's wrist. She said, "This is yours. Don't lose it."

Madeline blinked and said, "Oh, thank you." She admired it, "How fashionable."

Sophie had Twilight headbutt Flash. "So she says 'back off!' And Flash says 'Can we play video games?' And Twilight says 'sure, we'll hook up the XBox. But that's all we're doing.'"

Madeline let out a humming sigh. "Yes, well, neigh means neigh."

The comment went over the girls' heads. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon groan and roll his eyes, but Lily covered up her laugh. Madeline shrugged to herself. One out of four was a little better than her usual.

Lily, a thin lanky thing with wild hair, curled up into a well-loved lime green bean bag chair. When Madeline looked over, she noticed two dust covered shelves up on the wall above her. She stood up, brushing off her skinny jeans, and walked over to look upon a handful of high school football trophies of varying shapes and sizes. She smiled as she saw Harvey's name on all of them. Blinking, Madeline reached up and pulled forward a faded photograph, showing Harvey in full football gear. She decided that he wasn't joking about the peaked-in-high-school comment he made months before. In the photo, he didn't look jaded or cynical or even mildly sarcastic. His eyes were full with hope for the future.

Madeline looked down to find Lily looking up at her from her bean-bag chair. She pointed to the girl's book. "Is that the first one?"

Lily looked at the cover and said, "Yeah. I just got through the Kirsten ones."

Brandon crossed his arms and leaned against the wall a few feet away from them. Madeline managed not to tell Brandon that if he'd had a fedora he would have won that day's look-alike contest. He said dismissively, "You're way too old to be reading those books."

Lily blushed, but didn't say anything. She buried her face back into her book.

Madeline rested against the wall beside Lily. "When I was twelve, I told my parents that I was too old for Barbies. So they packed them away downstairs. I used to sneak down there at night when no one was looking, just so I could play with them."

Lily's eyes went cartoon character wide. "Really?"

Madeline held up two fingers like a girl scout in confirmation.

Lily half-smiled. "...You ever get caught?"

"Ho yeah. I was makin' 'em talk in different voices and everything." Madeline grinned as Lily laughed at her.

Brandon sent Madeline the strangest look, took out his cell phone, and stalked past them back upstairs.

Madeline watched him, thinking 'well, you can't win them all'. She pointed to Lily's book. "You get to the chapter where Felicity meets Jiggy Nye?" When she nodded, Madeline said, "That's my favorite part."

Heavy footfalls on the stairs caused Madeline to snap her attention back towards the stairway. She expected to see Harvey descending them, but instead she looked upon a tall woman with dyed black hair cut in an edgy half-shaved style. She had a small waist and wide hips, giving her body the perfect pear-shape. "All right, kidlets!" she called. "Get upstairs. Dinner's almost ready."

Lily put down her book obediently and assumed the role of den mother, corralling Kyra and Sophie as they bickered about which of them looked more like Taylor Swift.

The woman stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hi, I'm Jackie. Harvey's sister."

She accepted the handshake. "Maddie. It's nice to meet you." She looked up as the kids went upstairs. "Any of these yours?"

Jackie smiled. She had a pretty face, but Madeline noticed that it was careworn for someone so young. "The two little stinkers are mine."

Madeline held out her right wrist saying, "I believe I've been embraced by the natives."

Jackie made an impressed noise. "Kyra gave you her rainbow one." She started up the stairs and Madeline followed her. "She must like you."

Madeline said, "She did say I'm not done yet. I still have to look at her autographs from the characters at Disney, her collection of rocks from outside, and her second grade yearbook."

"Welcome to the party."

(x)

Harvey took his seat at the table, next to Maddie, prompting an argument between Kyra and Sophie about who was going to sit next to her on the other side. His mother quickly popped off a "neither of you, take your goddamn seats", and though visibly disappointed, they reluctantly took their usual spots. Lily sat down next to Maddie, which left a space for Jackie to sit directly across from Harvey.

His mother said the exact same grace she ran through word for word, pause for pause ever since the dawn of time, and everyone immediately dug into the meal just after. His mother held out her hand for Maddie's plate, and she relinquished. Harvey watched his mother pile on a serious helping of pot roast, mashed potatoes, and mixed veggies all smothered in a heavy deluge of gravy. He made an exasperated face as he looked at the plate. Great. Next his mom'd complain that Maddie didn't like her cooking because she didn't finish off what could easily feed half his precinct.

The table fell into its usual silence as they began to stuff their faces with his mom's cooking. Finally, Jackie said, as if the thought had just come to her, "Oh, Harv. I was thinking that you could give Brando and Lil a ride home. Save Amber the trip."

Between bites, he said, "Thought they were stayin' here tonight."

"They are." Jackie glanced at both Lily and Brandon. "But I'm sure you two probably have some things you need to pick up before school tomorrow. Maybe gym clothes or school books or something like that." Her voice asked them to further confirm her assumption.

Lily focused on keeping her mouth full of pot roast and avoided all eye contact. Brandon did raise his eyes from his smartphone that he hid in his lap.

Harvey wilted just slightly, before he said, "You're so concerned about it, why don't you give 'em a ride?"

Jackie spelled out. "Because I'm not the one who needs to take them."

Harvey shook his head. His sister was a smart person but she always had something of a dead-short between her brain and her mouth. "Look, Jax, you need to chill-"

"I think you're doing that enough for the both of us."

He put down his fork and it clamored against the porcelain plate. His said a little more loudly, "If you're lookin' for a detective, I'm off the clock."

He felt and watched a dark cloud settle over the table, and his mother appeared to lose whatever iota of patience she possessed. Regina said, "Sweet jumping Jehosephat. Just give the kids a ride home after dinner."

Harvey muttered, "This is freakin' ridiculous."

Jackie said through clenched teeth, "Could you be a bigger ass right now?"

Harvey geared up for a comeback, probably something he'd only regret later about how big his sister's ass had gotten, when Brandon looked up from the table. "We don't need to pick up anything," he declared in a hard voice. "Mom doesn't want us home. She's got enough shit to deal with right now."

Brandon shocked all of them, even Regina, into falling absolutely still. The quiet that followed was so heavy that for a moment Harvey found it painful.

Suddenly, a loud, masculine burp rung out, breaking the silence.

Beside him, Madeline shrunk down and covered her mouth. He watched her brown eyes go wide as she said against her hand, "Sorry." She cleared her throat, and he watched her cheeks turn bright red. "I'm really sorry."

Kyra spoke in her Kardashian voice. "O.M.G. Gross."

Lily tried to hold back her laughter, but really, the very act of that only made her double over more. That started Sophie in. At first, Jackie sputtered as she attempted to say something, but soon she started laughing, too.

Madeline kept trying to fix it. "I'm so sorry."

Harvey tried to look at her disapprovingly and did a poor job of it. He glanced down at her plate, to find it completely empty save for a few lingering traces of gravy. He looked at her in disbelief. "...You ate all that?"

She let out another, much softer burp. "Well, yeah. It was really good."

The girls laughed further, and Brandon rolled his eyes, completely done with the entire situation, and escaped back into the blue glow of his smartphone.

His mother's face softened just slightly, and she asked Madeline, "You want any more?"

She held out her plate. "Uh, yeah, sure. Thank you."

His mother accepted the plate from her, and she served up only half of the massive portion she'd doled out beforehand.

Harvey watched Lily take in the scene, and she immediately picked up her empty plate. "Hey, I want some more."

Sophie gasped, catching on, and all but fell over herself to say. "Yeah! I want more, too!"

Kyra said, "You can't have more! You haven't even eaten what's on your plate!"

"Nu-uh," Sophie whined. "I'm almost all done." She held up her nearly full plate. "Look!"

Regina made her will law saying, "Finish what you have. Then we'll talk." Then she caught something out of the corner of her eye and brayed, "Brandon Jacob Bullock! What have I told you about lookin' at that goddamn thing during dinner?! Put that away before I take out my sledgehammer and make it a memory."

Brandon immediately pocketed his smartphone and defeated, he returned to his dinner.

Harvey glanced over at Maddie who started in on her second helping, and he focused his energy on catching up to her.

(x)

By the time Regina cleared their plates and packed the leftovers safely into tupperware, Maddie had her hair done up in seven different braids and she wore heavy bright blue eye shadow and neon purple lipstick. She sat down on the living room floor and asked Sophie. "Do I look like Gem?"

She scrunched up her face. "Who's Gem?"

Kyra said with authority. "No, you look like Ariana Grande."

Maddie looked to the side and back at Kyra. "...Is that a good thing?"

Before Kyra could answer, Regina clumped back from the kitchen, walking like her right hip was bothering her. She all but collapsed into a faded, flower-printed recliner that had frayed edges but looked insanely comfortable. Jackie sat down on the matching sofa, and Regina turned on the television, saying, "Okay. Who's turn it is to pick the movie?"

"Mine!" Kyra shouted.

Sophie immediately gasped a noise of shock. Jackie said softly but firmly, "Kyra. It's Sophie's turn."

Kyra threw back her head. "Uuuuuh. She always picks the same movie-"

"Up," Sophie said on cue. "I wanna see Up."

Madeline watched the entire family deflate a little at her choice, but apparently in Regina's house, rules were rules. Jackie stood up and loaded the DVD into the player.

She heard Harvey walk over from the kitchen. He stopped and leaned against the doorway, beer in hand, no doubt unaware of what a fine figure he cut standing there. When she met his eye, he froze in place. "Oh, Lordy…"

She said, "What? I look like Ariana Grande."

Harvey said, "You look like Pippi Longstocking got stuck in a bad acid trip."

Sophie watched the two of them like she might a ping-pong tournament and whispered to Maddie, "What's that mean?"

She said, "It means I need more blush."

Kyra took matters into her hands and opened back up her makeup case as the beginning scene in Up began to play on the television.

Harvey cleared his throat as the movie started. "Yo, Brando."

The young man - despite his age that's how Madeline started to think of him, as a man and a boy fighting for control of the same body - looked up, giving Harvey his full attention.

He pointed to the staircase that led to the second floor. "C'mon, give me a hand. We gotta install the bathroom light fitting upstairs."

Brandon obediently rose and followed his uncle to the upstairs bathroom. Madeline smirked to herself as Harvey found himself an exit strategy that excused him from having to watch the first fifteen minutes of Up. Madeline settled into soft neutral, and the rest of Harvey's family did, too. After a good twenty minutes, she used makeup remover from her purse to take off her make-over and pulled out her braids, with Kyra's permission, of course. As the movie continued, the family ate ice cream, which Madeline declined, explaining that ice cream was always a good idea… unless one more bite of anything will make you explode.

Eventually, she moved onto the opposite end of the couch from Jackie. Kyra settled in between the two of them, and Sophie climbed up into Madeline's lap, as if it were the most natural thing, as if she'd done it every day of her life.

Towards the end of the movie, Sophie raised her voice. "Where do people go when they die?"

Madeline watched Jackie stare forward as she worked up to answering the question. Finally, she said, "Well, when you get older, your body doesn't work any more…" She seemed to be buying herself some time. "Then, your spirit-"

"No, I want Madeline to tell me," Sophie said, turning around and looking up right at her.

Madeline clicked her lips. "Uh, well…"

Jackie quickly intervened. "Sophie, that's not a polite question to ask-"

"Well..." Madeline rose to the occasion and decided to answer her with abject honesty. "I don't know." She pointed to Sophie. "What do you think happens?"

Sophie's eyes lit up and she hurriedly said, "I think we go to heaven, where we get to have whatever we want, and everybody we like is there with us. And no one's sad or anything. Because you can't be sad when you have all the things that make you happy."

Madeline felt her whole face smiling. She asked her, conspiratorially, "You think I'll be there, too?"

Sophie made a long humming noise, keeping them in suspense. Then she said decisively, "Yes."

Jackie looked at her and joked, "I was a little worried there for a minute."

Madeline saw something out of the corner of her eye. Brandon walked back into the room, and Harvey stood, watching her from the doorway sans beer bottle.

Madeline smiled at him and then turned her attention back to Sophie. "You think Uncle Harvey'll be there?"

"Oh yeah," she answered immediately.

Madeline laughed a little and she turned back to Harvey. "She really thinks you'll get in."

Harvey smirked as he sat down beside her on the arm of the couch. "They're just lettin' anybody up there these days."

The room settled back into companionable silence. When Carl's house descended down and disappeared into the clouds, Madeline smiled.

(x)

From there, the house began to clear out. Brandon and Lily said good-night and disappeared upstairs. Jackie gave Harvey a peck on the cheek before she called the girls over and headed for the door.

Before they left, Kyra pulled on the cuff of his button-down shirt. Harvey bent down and asked her, "What's up, baby girl?"

Kyra stood upright importantly. "I've given it some thought. I think you she's your type."

As Kyra joined her mother by the door, Harvey raised his eyebrows as if considering the suggestion. "You think so, huh? I'll keep that in mind."

From the doorway, Jackie said to him. "I'll give you a call tomorrow."

Harvey stood up and called over, "Don't hit my car on the way out."

Madeline walked over and thanked his mother for dinner. Right after, Harvey took his keys out of his pocket and said to Madeline, "Start up the car, would ya? I'll be down in a sec."

When the door shut behind her, Harvey turned to his mother. "Talked things over with Brando. Couple cops came by their place last week. He thinks she's caught up in skimming funds off the top, just like last time."

Regina hissed out, "Shit."

"That's why they canned her."

"Fuckin' hell. I thought she was done with all that."

Harvey grumbled, "She's gonna be by the time I'm done with her."

"You goin' over there?"

"I'll talk with the cops in white collar and get the full story. Then I'll stop by Amber's tomorrow." He shrugged into his jacket and put on his hat. "Granted nothin' else twice as crazy crops up that needs handling."

Regina washed her hands and dried them on one of her many faded, stained dish towels. She glanced out the window above the sink before she said, "She kept the girls out from underfoot."

It took Harvey a second to realize that his mother was talking about Madeline.

His mother crossed her arms as she looked at him. "We could use more of that around this place. You oughtta bring her by the next time the girls are driving me stir crazy."

Harvey and his mother said their good-nights, and in no time he was back out in his car with Madeline, pulling out of the driveway.

Harvey turned back onto the main road and said, "So, in case you were wondering why it took me so long to bring you to Sunday dinner… That would be why."

She waved away the comment. "That's still nothing compared to a good family therapy session... Though you were right. It was an entertainment-filled evening."

He said, "Usually for that kinda show you gotta pay admission, but since you know me, you get in for free."

"Your nieces are sweet." Then she asked, "So what'd 'Brando' have to say about me?"

Harvey dipped his head into a nod. "He thinks you're super weird and sort of a dork."

"Can't get anything past that one."

"Next time we come by, just start talkin' about that Freud parent family shit. That oughtta help seal the deal."

Madeline turned to appraise him. "Next time? I've been cleared for a next time?"

"Hell yeah. You're my secret weapon. You go in, distract them. I'll find the beer and put on the game. Lather, rinse, repeat."

They settled into silence, and Madeline scrunched up her face and audibly winced. "... Can't believe I belched at your mom's dinner table."

"It shook the rafters," he said. "That one had testosterone behind it."

"I bet I couldn't do it again. Not even if you paid me."

Harvey turned on the radio and drove them back to his place. The whole day leading up and the entire dinner that followed, he'd wanted nothing more than to avoid the entire situation. Now, he had the thought 'Well, that could've gone worse', and he was rather surprised to find that he genuinely meant it.


	16. Fire and Fast Bullets

(x)

7 Years Prior

Madeline hunched down inside her thermal black peacoat as the icy wind bit her nose and cheeks. She knew before she left her apartment that there was a half a foot of snow on the ground. Even though it was technically spring, she knew from watching the weather reports that it would be below freezing out. She should have brought a scarf.

Detective Johnson Pickering hunkered down inside his coat too. He said, "What the hell, right?"

"Seriously. Screw you, March. You had one job."

"Go home, March!" he shouted into the wind. "You're drunk."

Madeline exhaled deeply inside her coat in a half-hearted attempt to warm herself. She glanced back at the restaurant. She remembered how toasty and comfortable it had been inside and shivered a little more. "What's taking him so long?"

Johnson said, "Payin' the bill."

"Next time I've got to pick that up."

He sent her a quizzical look. "Why would you go and do that? Let that dummy take care of you."

When she replied, her breath crystallized in the cold air. "I appreciate that quixotic notion. But I work just as hard and make just as little for it as he does."

Then Johnson's eyebrows went up. He immediately changed his tune just as soon as he realized he also could possibly benefit from her decision. "You just let me know. I'll tag along. Next time I'll order up a steak dinner."

Harvey trudged through the snow toward them. "What're you two yammerin' about?"

His partner spoke up. "Just asking her what she's still doin' with a loser like you."

Harvey caught up with them and slung his arm around Madeline's waist. "You ever figure it out, you let me know."

Johnson said, "Like I would understand it anyway. She's usin' words I don't know."

Harvey turned half a face to him. "What? Like 'leave the tip?'" Johnson muttered something about that being bullshit, and Harvey said, "Don't act like you didn't hear me say it in there."

Madeline changed the subject. "Quixotic."

Johnson lumbered through the snow behind them. "That's the one."

Harvey said, "She's gotta say at least seven five-dollar words a day or else they take away her doctoral degree."

She took a deep breath before saying, "There's no need to be covetous of my erudite, accomplished, and grandiloquent vocabulary."

Harvey muttered, "Show off."

Johnson said, "That and we're talkin' about women's rights."

Madeline eyed Harvey who stared forward silently. She said, "Well, now we know what subject to bring up if we want him to be quiet."

"Hey," he said loudly. "Nobody, and I mean, nobody loves you ladies like me. I'm all for equal pay, equal rights. You want to go tackle a linebacker? I'll buy you the helmet. You go knock yourself out, sweetheart."

Though he'd no doubt deny it on principle, she knew he could be primitive and misogynistic, and it got him in trouble sometimes. Because she knew that, she also knew he wouldn't be smart enough to end it there. Wait for it... 3...2...1...

As if on cue, Harvey geared up and said, "But here's the problem. You ladies are all about social equality ... right up until you see a spider or need a piece of oak furniture moved up the stairs."

Madeline opened her mouth to make a retort about how men were so big and bad until pitted against a bad case of the sniffles, when she heard an engine roar behind them. Someone with a heavy Eastern European accent bellowed, "HEY, BULLOCK!" Headlights splashed over the sidewalk as a sleek black town car approached them. "DIMITRI SAYS TO WATCH YOUR BACK!"

The windows of the car rolled down, and rifles emerged, barrel-first. Before Madeline knew what was happening, Harvey grabbed her and shielded her against the wall of an alleyway. Gunfire blasted all around them, ringing in her ears. Sparks flew and bullets popped off the sidewalk and the brick walls, leaving heavy wisps of smoke in the icy air as the car peeled away.

The second the gunfire stopped, Harvey and Johnson sprinted out into the street, pistols drawn, undeterred and apparently unharmed by the hail of bullets. They fired round after round at the retreating car. Harvey hit the trunk and shattered their back window, and Johnson got a taillight. But with all four tires intact, the town car squealed its tires around the corner as it bent left, disappearing from sight altogether.

Harvey lowered and holstered his gun. "Goddamn sons of bitches."

"What'd I tell you, huh? I told you they meant business. I told you that shit was serious," Johnson berated him.

He and Johnson hurried back to the sidewalk and back to Madeline. Harvey seemed to ignore whatever point Johnson tried to make. "All right, I got the license plate," he said. "He knows we're closin' in. We just gotta find that car and haul their asses into lockup tonight."

Suddenly, Johnson skidded to a stop in the snow. He nudged his partner. "Hey. Harvey..."

Madeline braced herself against the cold brick wall of the alleyway, right where Harvey left her, trying to catch her breath. A lump stuck in her throat as she stared down at the ground at the shell casings of the bullets that missed them. She kept trying to say something, but her vocal cords were suddenly locked, frozen.

Harvey's face fell. "Oh, shit." He ran up to her and wrapped his arms around her. Madeline let out a shuddering breath and buried her face into the fabric of his shirt. "Hey, hey. Look, it's all right," he said, running a hand over her hair. "Just some assholes tryin' to scare us. We're fine. We are absolutely fine."

Madeline knew Harvey could feel her shivering against him, and they both knew it wasn't only from the cold.

(x)

Once they were in the car, Harvey turned the heat up to full blast. "You okay?"

Madeline nodded an affirmative in response. Her initial panic had faded, much more quickly than she thought it would, and once it left, it made room for a different sensation. She sat beside him, forcibly struck by how in a moment of danger he acted without one thought for his own safety, only for hers. She said, "Those were some quick reflexes, Harv."

He kept his eyes on the road. "This ain't exactly my first rodeo."

Or his first drive-by shooting. But it had been hers. The silence that followed grew thick, and though neither of them spoke, she became moderately certain that they'd both had the same thought at the same time.

Her next thought made her sigh against her closed lips. "I can't believe I just stood there-"

"You're a civilian," he cut in, silencing her. "And you stayed put which is just exactly what smart civilians should do in that sorta scrape."

Though Madeline heard what he said, she suddenly recalled something. She said it before she could stop herself. "They knew your name."

"Comes with the territory." He sound almost a little bored when he said it. Then he glanced at her, his blue eyes meeting her dark ones. "This is what the job is, Maddie."

Words caught in her throat, but she kept them down. It wasn't that they weren't important. It was just that none of them would help at the moment. Plus something told her that Harvey wasn't exactly up for a Charlie Rose-style interview, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn't either.

When they reached her building, Harvey walked her up the stairs to her apartment, grumbling about shithead shooters making him drag his ass onto the streets on a Sunday night. She commented, "I thought you always say 'no muerto, no trabajo.'"

"This ain't exactly normalmente. Besides if anyone's gonna bust those bastardos, it's gonna be me."

Madeline smirked. "Is this the part where you get all serious and say 'this time it's personal'?"

"This is me begging you to stop watching reruns of Magnum, P.I." He added as an afterthought, "Speaking of which, I better get down there and make sure Higgins doesn't shit the bed on this one."

She took a close look at him. "I thought you said the kid was starting to make himself useful."

"Yesterday he found a donut in the donut shop. So you know, that's progress."

"I feel safer already."

He leaned down and kissed her on the side of her mouth. "I'll call you in the morning."

She crossed her arms as he went for the door. "Be careful."

Harvey pulled his hat down on his head and gave a perfunctory, "Always." Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

Madeline locked up and got herself ready for bed. Replaying the talk they had in the car, she sighed to herself. She'd chosen not to press him on what took place, and instead allowed them to fall back into their comfortable, practiced sarcasm that was a haven for both of them. It'd settled things for the night, but she knew that particular tactic only turned the trick for so long.

Later that night, she gave sleep her best shot. Unfortunately, the longer she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the louder her thoughts became. She tried not think about the way the gunfire still echoed in her ears, how the bullets just barely missed their marks, how she'd taken only the smallest glimpse into Harvey's everyday reality ... and how it had scared the hell out of her. Then she tried not to think about how he'd immediately run back into the fray and how he was back up against it again right now. She tried to put all of it out of her mind and fall asleep.

But it just wasn't that easy.


	17. Have a Drink on Me

7 Years Prior

It took Harvey and Johnson a little under twenty-four hours, and an unexpectedly ridiculous amount of coordination with the idiot detectives working in aggravated assault and battery, to track down the car and arrest the shooters responsible for the drive-by. When they finally brought them in and handed them off to to the flatfoots for booking, Harvey magnanimously decided to let assault and battery tackle things from there.

But not before he walked up to the perps being ushered further into the precinct by the rookies. Harvey's voice was suddenly full of sunshine and rainbows. "Hee-eey! You got here just in time for bring-your-mobster-to-work day."

He approached the oldest of the three shooters, a tall, stick thin lackey whose face held an abundance of piercings. Harvey was only sixty percent sure the thug was male, until he spoke in a heavy masculine voice affected with a thick Russian accent. "You. He will want answer."

"Wassat? You want an answer?" Harvey kept walking and deadpanned, "Arresting gun-happy dipshits is sorta my thing. I'm super into it."

He turned up his pierced nose. "This will not be ignored."

"Oooo, shoulda saved that one," he said, waggling a finger as he passed him. "Coulda looked pretty slick spelled out in magazine clippings in my scrapbook." The guy muttered something in Russian under his breath. Harvey didn't turn back around, but he did wave a solid good-bye, calling out, "Welcome to the GCPD. Thanks for keeping us in business. Enjoy your stay!"

Harvey plumped hard into his desk chair, and it took only a few minutes before Johnson sat down across from him. When he picked up his hat and put on his jacket, his partner asked, "Where are you going?"

"Wherever I want," he said, standing up. "I'm gonna make like a Russian and fuckoffski."

"What about the goons we brought in? All the paperwork?" Johnson watched him for a moment and then, he realized, "So wait. You made that assault and battery's problem and now you're leavin' out to get blitzed?"

He greeted him. "Hello. I'm Harvey Bullock. It's nice to meet you." He nudged his partner. "You're welcome, by the way. Now you can knock off and go see that hot ticket of yours before midnight for once."

"She broke up with me."

"Again?" Those two broke up and got back together more than Van Halen and the Backstreet Boys combined.

"Yeah. I tried to hook up with one of her sorority sisters."

Harvey felt his face drop. Then he popped off a laugh. "You what?"

Johnson stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, which only made him look even more like a ten-year-old. "I couldn't remember whether or not we were on a break," he said with what looked like complete honesty. "And that girl had a back tattoo. And a tongue ring."

Harvey hit him in the shoulder. "All right, mack daddy. Get up. Grab your coat. We brought in our skells today. It's 'bout time we started drinking like it."

(x)

A loud cop-knock woke Madeline up from a sound sleep. She sat up in bed, squinting awake into the soft light of her bedroom, and at first, she thought that maybe she'd dreamed it. Then she flinched again as a solid 'bang-bang-bang open up in the name of the law' fist all but beat down her door. Madeline pushed aside her copy of 'In an Unspoken Voice' off her stomach and realized that she'd fallen asleep reading.

She breathed out a frustrated sigh and put on her prescription glasses before she walked out into the living room. Then she watched her door burst open and jumped in place as Johnson barged in with Alvarez. They held up Harvey's nearly unconscious body between them.

Madeline ran toward them and shouted, "What the hell?! What happened to Har-? Did you bust in my door?!"

Alvarez said, "Your door was unlocked."

Johnson propped Harvey's right arm over his shoulder, but it was clear that Alvarez was the only one doing the heavy lifting. Harvey's partner broke out in a grin as he saw her. His usually scruffy hair stuck wetly to his forehead, clearly due to a bad case of the beer sweats. "Hey, Madeline! We're in your house." He pointed to her. "And you're wearing glasses."

She exhaled, "Oh, Jesus."

Alvarez stood completely still, pinning her with his wide-eyed stare. Madeline decided that he was the one with the cop knock, because now he talked to her in his cop voice. "Do you know how dangerous it is in this city? You can't just leave your door unlocked."

Madeline shook her head, still hazy from being woken up from a deep sleep. "So … are you gonna issue me a citation or … are you gonna tell me what you're all doing in my apartment?"

Alvarez jerked his head toward Harvey, who hung between the two of them. "This one drank his face off." Then he threw up his hand, motioning to Johnson. "And this one just won't shut the fuck up."

Madeline patted her lips. Alvarez was a man of few words, but he'd captured them in totality. She looked to Harvey and then back up to Alvarez. "How … did you even figure out where I live?"

Harvey groaned loudly and shifted, and Alvarez impatiently adjusted the man's arm hard over his own shoulder. "Pickering met Bullock outside this building before. He figured it was your place. And your last name is on your mailslot downstairs." He said it as though it should have been obvious.

Johnson rushed to talk and his words slurred together. "I tried to call, but I don't have your number." He struggled to yank his cell phone out of his pocket, while still holding up Harvey. "I need… You need to give me your phone number."

Madeline said, "Johnson, why didn't you just take him to your place?"

Johnson announced, "He wanted to see you! We both, we wanted to see you."

Alvarez rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't have all night. I gotta get home to my wife."

Madeline motioned for them to follow her. "Here. You can put him in the bedroom."

Johnson and Alvarez heaved Harvey down onto the bed longways. He fell backward like a tree chopped at the stump and bounced hard onto the mattress with his legs hanging over the side.

Johnson released a satisfied breath and rested his hands on his hips. "That man is a truckload."

Madeline called attention. "All right, everyone out of my bedroom." She ushered Johnson out, and Alvarez headed right for the door.

When Madeline saw Alvarez about to make his exit, she ran up to him. "Hey, hey!" When he stopped and turned half a face to her, she grabbed up Johnson's shirt collar and dragged him forward with her. "Take this one with you."

"No way," Alvarez said. "He's your problem."

Madeline opened her mouth, but no words came out. She finally sputtered, "But, what-"

"Good night," he said with finality. Then he looked at her pointedly again. "And lock up this door behind me." He slammed the door, and she listened to his heavy footfalls march up the hallway and down the stairs until they disappeared altogether.

Madeline put out her lower lip and breathed up a hefty sigh that scattered the bangs on her forehead. Then she released Johnson from her grasp and turned the snick of the lock. Johnson started talking about how she looked like a librarian, and she barrelled past him. She got into her bedroom and shut and locked that door behind her, too.

Madeline could hear Johnson rummaging around in the livingroom. God only knew for what. She leaned her back against the door, and then she saw Harvey, half-hanging off the bed, mumbling out some semblance of phrases.

Shaking her head, she gently moved him onto what she'd begun thinking of as his side of the bed. She wrestled off his shoes, and though it took some effort and some patience, she stripped him down to his undershirt and boxers. Then she took off his hat and rolled it in her hands, before she hung it atop one of her bedposts. She climbed into bed next to him, to try to at least get one of the covers overtop of him, and when she did, he suddenly grabbed her the arm and yanked her to him.

Harvey stared up at her with bleary eyes that tried desperately to focus and mumbled out in a soft voice, "...Who are you?" Then he asked, "What are you doin' with me?"

She relaxed and pressed out a rhapsodic sigh. "I'm your lady friend, Madeline. And I'm putting your drunk ass to bed."

That seemed to silence him. He tried to roll over onto his side. As with most things, it turned out the third time was the charm. She considered trying to get him to eat some Saltines or take some aspirin or at the very least drink some water, but once she heard his snoring begin to tune up, she abandoned that endeavor. As he slept, she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Sweet dreams. You big dumb gumshoe."

Once Harvey settled, Madeline unlocked her bedroom door and walked back out to Johnson. The kid looked at her with a wide-eyed stare and then glanced down at her carpet. He said dully, "Uh. Someone threw up on your floor."

She supervised while he cleaned up the mess, and once the carpet smelled mostly of Resolve and Febreeze, she gave him permission to crash on her couch. She handed him his blanket softly, but smacked him upside the face with his pillow as hard as she could. When she closed her bedroom door behind her, she tried to stop a faint smile from crossing her lips and couldn't.

Madeline took off her glasses and set them on her nightstand. Then she curled up beside Harvey in bed. She squinted at her digital clock, which informed her it was two-thirty in the morning. Telling herself that she needed to get back to sleep because she had to be up in four hours only seemed to make it harder to do so.

(x)

Harvey awoke to the sound of himself snoring and let off a loud grunt as Madeline's alarm blared in his ears. He pulled the pillow tightly around his head and face-planted back into the mattress as she mercifully silenced the beeping. Even with the top sheet cooling his face, he could feel a large bubble of alcohol raging and pulsing behind his eyes. When he tried to sit up, he discovered he was still quite drunk. He must have gone back to sleep, because he woke up again, this time to Madeline shaking his shoulder.

"Hmph?" Harvey squinted open his eyes and when the world came into focus, he saw Madeline dressed to the nines for work and holding out a glass of water. He struggled into a sitting position and accepted the glass with a grumbling 'thank you'. When she pressed two small white pills into his hand, he took them without even asking her what they were.

She spoke softly and even those words pounded in his ears. "I gotta leave for work. Feel better. And if you need to puke, please make an effort to get to the bathroom."

The words did clear some of the cotton out of his mind. He carefully sat up all the way and looked to her. "How did I get here?"

Madeline walked back to her dresser and spritzed on perfume. "Alvarez and boy wonder brought you in early this morning."

"Sorry about that."

"You'll have plenty of time to be sorry today. And probably tomorrow, too."

He knew what she meant. His hangover would be a bitch on wheels. "Thanks for lettin' me crash."

"Well, I'm not the type to kick you outta bed."

Harvey tried standing up and … managed it. He slipped on his pants from the night before. "You smell nice," he said.

"Yeah, well, one of the three of us should."

"Are we counting our collective sarcasm as an actual person now?"

She nodded to the living room as she put on her earrings. "Your puppy followed you home."

Harvey closed his eyes and muttered to himself. Madeline clip-clopped out of the bedroom and into the main section of her apartment, and Harvey slowly shuffled out behind her.

Johnson sat on her couch with his blonde hair frizzed up the back, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and his boxers. He propped up his bare feet on her coffee table as he surfed through cable channels. He waved over to them. "'Morning."

In the kitchen, Madeline poured coffee into her travel mug and grabbed up her briefcase. Harvey dropped down next to Johnson on the couch. Almost immediately, he held his head in his hand and waited for the freshest wave of nausea to pass.

Madeline walked over to them and pointed at Johnson. "Get your feet off my table."

He obliged her, one foot after the other, and then blinked at her. "No eyeglasses?"

Harvey mumbled, "Vanity."

"I only wear them when I have to." She said to them, "Don't eat all my food." Then she stopped and walked back over to Harvey.

Johnson yawned. "Aren't you tired? You should call out." He propped his hands behind his head. "Then you could make us breakfast."

She reached Harvey, leaned down, and kissed him delicately. Then she smiled sweetly to them before saying, "I hate you both."

Harvey sang after her, "Have a good day, honey."

Johnson called out, "Bye, Maddie."

Madeline hurried out the door and shut it behind her. While Johnson continued lazily flipping through channels, Harvey drudged himself to his feet. He walked up to the door and locked it behind her.

Johnson kept his eyes on the TV screen. "What's up with her not locking doors?"

"She's the female equivalent of the absent-minded professor." Harvey collapsed back onto the couch. "And it's one of several reasons why I'm prescribed blood pressure medication." He neglected to mention that Johnson was pretty high up on that list himself.

Johnson put down the remote and rested his feet back up on the coffee table. "Ah, Scooby Doo. Here we go."

Finally, a case the kid could solve. Harvey leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, listening to the familiar theme song. "It's the spooky groundskeeper."

"How do you know that? It hasn't even started yet."

He fell back asleep, saying, "It's always the spooky groundskeeper."


	18. Help I'm Alive

(x)

7 Years Ago

Inside Blackgate Penitentiary, the inmates' voices echoed against the dull gray walls and high ceiling, producing a mostly unintelligible cacophony. Madeline kept her stare locked forward and her face severe as she moved down one of the fenced-off passageways past F Block. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a handful of prisoners milling about, growing weary of staring at nothing and finding nothing. A few of them noticed her legs and made comments she'd heard before. As soon as she approached, one of the guards granted her entrance to the back offices, and the industrial strength doors slammed behind her.

Once on the other side of the door, Madeline breathed out a tense sigh. She hated that she dreaded the short, completely protected walk, hated that her breathing changed and her skin crawled. Hated that logically she knew she wasn't in real danger, but that her body kept telling her she was. She hated having to talk herself down right after, like this. Hated that-

She reached the glass window of the therapy room without realizing it and looked in on her next client. She waved to the guard on post, Conway, who leaned against the far wall and waved back.

Madeline got herself together and walked into the therapy room. She sat down across from a heavy-set, but muscular African American male. He had a soft baby face that didn't match the jagged scar that ran from his left temple down to his chin.

His nickname was 'Knots'. He had ratty hair, and he had been an enforcer for one of the smaller gangs in town, tasked with squeezing blood out of stones all across Gotham. But Madeline figured he mostly went by Knots, because his first name was Del Monte, like the fruit cup company. He was right around her age. But he'd spent most of his twenties in prison, so in many ways he was older than his years.

Knots glared, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. She let the silence between them hang, until finally he spat out. "You got something to say?"

She easily met his stare. "I trust you've met with me long enough that you already know what I'm going to say."

"Just keep talkin', doc. The more you talk in here, the worse it gets."

"That sounds a lot like the other lie you tell yourself."

She didn't know his glare could deepen, but it did. "The hell you say to me?"

She repeated the words like a tape recorder. "That sounds a lot like the other lie you tell yourself. The one that goes: I will only survive if others fear me."

Knots laughed, a jagged angry sound. "You really don't get it, do you?"

The intensity in her voice matched his. "I get that traumatized people have to resort to extreme measures to keep themselves alive, and I get that the last thing you want is for me to point that out to you."

HIs voice boomed against the paper-thin walls. "No, you don't get who's fucking sitting across from you!"

"How long have we been meeting in this room?" She raised her voice, though not quite to his level. "I'm not the enemy here. I'm busting my ass in here to work -with- you, not against you."

Knots breathed out a derogatory huff. "What the fuck is your problem anyway? I thought this whole therapy thing was supposed to calm me down. Let me vent about all my worries and shit."

"No," she bit off. "This is about challenging you and helping you open doors you've shu-"

"You want to help me?" He shouted back. "Shut your trap for like two minutes and give me some fuckin' peace and quiet!"

Madeline hollered right back, her voice harsh and a little alarmed. "You don't have time for that! Two men tried to kill you yesterday." He still wore the bandages wrapped around his middle, underneath his prison clothing. Twice now, she'd watched him flinch from the pain. He belonged in the infirmary, but they couldn't keep him there. It was too full of other inmates, all busy knocking on death's door.

Knots screwed up his face in a grimace and dropped eye contact. The silence after she basically yelled at him felt even stronger by contrast.

She sat back in her seat and spoke in a much softer voice. "I heard that you didn't fight back. In fact, I heard that you evaded them and got yourself somewhere safe."

His hard stare nearly bore through her. "You heard wrong. I fought and I won. I can take down anyone I want in here, anytime I want. You need to learn to recognize a killer when you see one."

Madeline counted three lies in that statement ... and one truth. She continued to search his face, looking for something. "You thought before you acted. That took restraint."

A heavy fatigue fell over him, and for just a second, part of his veneer dropped. "I get out in 67 days, doc. You might want to circle that on your calendar." But it was weak-said.

She ignored the spoken threat. Like so many traumatized people, his words said one thing and his actions said another. But maybe with that threat he'd been trying to communicate something else. "The men who attacked you. I take it they were trying to steal that date from you."

"Let's just say they had their reasons."

Madeline nodded, as she had her answer. "This past week. Did you see your sister?"

Knots sat silently for quite some time before he mumbled, "She made the drive down."

"Is she aware your date is coming up?"

He twitched again from the pain of his injuries. "Yeah. Won't stop talking about it."

"You've been in here for seven years. It's normal to be terrified about rejoining the world outside these walls."

He closed his eyes at her words.

Madeline asked, "When you get out, will you be living with Tasha?"

Speaking her name aloud changed the air in the room for the better. "I got nowhere else to go."

"You'll be able to help her with her treatments. Take her to doctor's appointments. Her health may even improve with you home."

"Those kinda treatments cost real money."

She heard what he implied. "You've hurt people to provide for yourself and her in the past. You've tried that road, and it's very nearly destroyed you both." She said with some authority, "There can be another way. A way that keeps you from being incarcerated again."

Bitterness swept across his face and he sneered at her. "Maybe in the fairy tale you're living it does, but not in here. We don't all have rich parents and bank accounts like yours, doc."

She frowned. "Watch it," she said quietly but firmly. "I'm not a faceless Japanese robot, Del. I feel things in here, too. Don't make me into something I'm not."

To her surprise, he didn't fire anything back at her. She barely heard him, but he said, "Don't know why you waste your time here..."

"Is that a question? You want to know why I keep meeting in this room with you?" She waited until Knots met her eye to say, "Because if I don't, it'll just be the same thing over and over again. And I'll be goddamned if I'm gonna sit back and watch that happen to you."

The young man regarded her for a second. Then he sighed and ran his hands down his face. "If I want to disappear once I get out of here, I know the right people. I can make myself a ghost. But how am I supposed to work out new identities for me, Tasha, and my nephew, go on the run from The Free Man Gang, and pay for all her chemo?" He watched her carefully. "If you've got a plan, I'd love to hear it."

Madeline said, "Gangs allow their members to leave under extreme life threatening conditions. Like maybe a sister who might die if you aren't alive to care for her and your nephew."

Knots didn't argue the point. He looked forlorn, and Madeline thought she knew what the man was wrestling with.

She said, "But you already know that. That's not the problem. The problem is that you don't know who you are without the Free Man Gang. Just like you don't know who you are outside this prison." She said, "But you want to get out. Or else you would have fought, maybe even killed, those two men who went after you."

All at once, Knots looked nothing like the cold, hard convict that he desperately worked to have Madeline see. His voice sounded so different when he was Del Monte the human being instead of Knots the gang-banging enforcer. "I've mapped out exit strategies all over this place. Where I can run if someone gets the idea they want to take me down..."

So each day he walked around the prison and tried to memorize every possible way to get out, every detail about every person in there. Trying desperately to keep track of every person trying to hurt him.

Madeline tried to imagine what maintaining that level of alertness might feel like and the type of exhaustion that it would inspire. Much like Knots, she took her own exit strategy. She pushed the feelings she absorbed from him down to address later. "You're problem solving instead of reacting. That's different from before. How have you been able to do that?"

"I think about her," he said, looking at Madeline with wide eyes. "And how she can't take me being in here any more."

And about how he'd never be the same if Tasha died while he was in jail. She said, "The way you're handling all this shit in here? It's an act of determination and courage. Whether you know it or not."

"It's fucking me up," he argued. "The more I talk to you about all this feeling shit, the worse it is for me out there."

So that's what he'd meant before. "All this feeling shit?" Using his own words caused him to look back at her. "That's you beginning to notice things you've ignored. Your emotions feel more powerful because you're finally recognizing that you have them."

Knots leveled his gaze at her. "I'm sure that's what all those books in your office tell you. But out here in the real world, if I fuck up, I'll be in hell before I know I'm dead."

"Or on the other hand, all this feeling shit could give you a life, not just a prison sentence to wait out. Your thoughts are the real world calling. They're saying: Pay attention."

He glanced in the direction of F Block. "I already got plenty I gotta pay attention to out there."

Madeline felt something hard and uncomfortable sink down into the pit of her stomach. Mostly, because his words were true. "Well. We've still got a couple minutes before we end for today." The slightest bit of attitude slipped into her voice, "Maybe I could help you calm down and you could vent about all your worries and shit."

He patted his lips as he smirked. "Maybe I would, if you weren't so intent on breaking my balls in here."

Madeline smiled, knowing better than to take his trolling personally. "Turn off your hypervigilance for a second and try to chill out."

"Hypervigi..." Memory assisted him. "Oh yeah. That screening for threats thing."

She picked up her notepad and jotted down a few notes. "Yes. Though I'm a relentless ballbuster, hopefully I don't come across as particularly life-threatening."

Knots half-smiled at her, whether he intended to or not. Then he rolled his eyes, sighed, and took himself through a breathing exercise she'd taught him. When he finished, he gazed around the sparse bare-bones of the room. Finally, he said, "So... how bout you? You got any brothers, sisters, anything like that?"

Madeline flattened her left hand and made a cutting motion in the air.

"Right." For a split second, he looked hurt by the action, and then his expression hardened. His icy glare returned. "Smart move. You're better off without me knowin' about that."

Somewhere Madeline understood the transition. The prisoners lived in a masculine culture of sweat, crime, and dominance, where weakness and fear were concealed at all costs. He needed to build back up his armor before he walked back into the living hell of World's End.

She stood up. "I'll see you next week." She said expressly, "Be safe."

Knots said, "By the way, doc. A riot's set to go down tonight on F Block. They're hell bent on taking a hostage this time. So you be safe."

Hearing the warning made her brain feel weird, like a boat that had slipped its moorings. But the young man did her a favor letting her know. She made herself say "thank you" and she walked over to the call button. She hit it once. Twice. Finally, she held down the buzzer a long third time. Still no guard answered.

Bristling with frustration, she turned back to Knots and spoke in the voice. The ones the guards used. "Stay there and don't move."

Madeline opened up the door, moved quickly into the hallway, and slammed and locked the door behind her. When she looked back, Knots sat in his exact same position, just as he had been moments prior.

She released a heavy, long breath of relief and immediately began scanning the vicinity. "Where in the hell is..."

When she stared down the long hallway, she saw a guard talking with an inmate at the very end. Conway, the guard stationed to watch her room, handed the inmate a small, compact cell phone, and the inmate immediately pocketed it.

Madeline's mouth fell open, and a dull pulse of anger thrummed in her body. She charged forward. Well, no shit, there was gonna be riots. If every damn inmate had a cell phone with which to coordinate the time, date, and location of one.

"Don't."

She came to a halt and turned to see Wilson Bishop hurrying up to her. The guard Jack Buchinsky noticed was working double shifts. Wilson was a tallish black man, had to be in his mid-thirties. What always stood out most about him for her were his kind eyes. Those, much more than his age, gave him a venerable appearance.

Wilson motioned for her to join him off to the side, and reluctantly, she did. He said to her in a hushed tone. "I know you saw that. Same as I did-"

"He left his post to dole out contraband," she whispered angrily. "It's bad enough that he left me in there, but do you know how dangerous it is for that inmate, for any inmate to have a cell phone?"

"Of course, I do." Wilson admonished her, "And the next time you see something, you're gonna act like you don't."

Madeline shook her head. "You can't ask me to do that."

Wilson said, "I see what you're trying to do in here. But you gotta choose you battles. Either that or give them to me to deal with. Those are the only choices you got in this place."

Some subconscious part of her knew that what she said next had been meant for Harvey and not Wilson. "It's our job to protect ourselves in here. Both of us. Not just move every target from my back to yours."

"That's the way it goes when you save someone else's skin. Better just get used to it."

Madeline watched him carefully. Then she made herself focus solely on the circumstance at hand. "Look... when inmates tell me in detail what they're going to do before they do it, they're really just asking me to stop them."

"In most cases, I think that's true. But not in Buckinsky's."

Madeline remembered back to the long-drawn plan Buchinsky mapped out for her. The complete lack of humanity in his voice and his empty eyes. "He is quite the calculating psychopath, isn't he?"

"A dangerous calculating psychopath."

Which reminded her. "So, one of the inmates just told me that there's a riot set to go down tonight on F Block. If they have their way, they'll take a hostage. It'll probably be one of you guards because you're already in there with them."

Wilson nodded. "Thanks for the inside information. I'll raise the alarm."

"Are you on post there tonight?"

He smiled. "No, ma'am. My shift ends promptly in another fifteen minutes. Seems somebody made a stink at city hall about our hours here..."

Madeline crossed her arms. "Yeah, I overheard some of the guards complaining about it. Apparently, that means cutbacks in their overtime pay."

He said softly, "Whatever you did, I appreciate it."

Her frown stayed in place. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I have any idea what you're talking about."

"Just mind your p's and q's. If I can put it together, someone else might too." Then he rested his hands on his hips. "Knots still locked in the therapy room?"

Madeline looked over shoulder. "Right where I left him.

Wilson reached the therapy room and escorted Knots back to World's End. Conway hurried over from down the hall, and Madeline heard him give Wilson some half-baked excuse.

She muttered some angry, sarcastic words under her breath, but then she decided not to wait around to see if the inmates got their riot or not. She grabbed up her belongings and didn't waste time getting herself out of there. As she did so, disjointed thoughts twisted and turned in her mind, collecting like wool being spun into yarn on a spinning wheel.

Madeline understood that it was much more productive to see Knots' aggression as a learned behavior. However, she also understood that a part of Knots existed that could hurt or kill her and dismiss her quickly afterwards. How large or small that part was continued to be a question mark for her. She needed to make it emphatically clear that if he couldn't stop threatening her in sessions, then she couldn't keep seeing him for them.

As she headed toward the exit, Warden Carlson Grey appeared around the corner. He looked at her with open contempt. "Leaving so soon, doctor?"

 _Yes, could you whistle for the flying monkeys to bring around my broomstick?_ Her voice was sugar sweet. "I'd be happy to stay later, if you're in further need of my expertise."

Grey didn't miss a beat as they approached each other. "No, I believe you've been single-handedly responsible for more than your share of work around here lately."

She rolled her eyes once he walked past. "Just doing my job, sir." _By the way, a riot won't be happening for once. I'd tell you all about it, but you know, I wouldn't wanna fuckin' make you work too hard._ She called after him loudly, "Have a pleasant evening." _Fuckhead._

As Madeline walked out the door and down the steps outside Blackgate, she thought about how she'd coined Knots' dilemma - that he was fundamentally at war with himself because his outside veneer didn't match his emotions inside - but she didn't have a way to solve the issue.

She decided this was especially unfortunate. Because in that way she and Knots had the same problem.


	19. Daytripper

(x)

6 Years Prior

When Madeline walked out of her apartment building and onto the sidewalk, she grandly presented herself. Harvey sighed as he stepped forward from where he'd been leaning up against his cruiser.

He asked her, "What in the hell… are you wearing?"

Madeline put down her hands. She wore an over-sized pair of jean overalls over top of a skin-tight cherry red crop top. Her red hair was bunched up underneath a ridiculous black slouch hat, and big hoop sterling silver earrings hung down from her ears. The lipstick she wore matched the crop top exactly. "What?" She said. "We're going to the hood. I'm trying to look 'street'."

"Can't believe… freakin' ridiculous…" Harvey walked up to her.

"Does it lack authenticity?"

He took her arm and led her to the car convict-style, unconsciously. "C'mon, you little hoodrat. Just get in before someone you know sees you."

Madeline played gangsta rap on the radio the entire way with the windows rolled down. When she started singing along to a particularly explicit rap song, Harvey glanced at her. "So which one is it?"

"That's why you breathe fast, bitch, no need to ask..." She paused mid-rap to say, "Hmm? Which one is what?"

"You've either been hiding your closet obsession of all things hip-hop this whole time or there's a carbon monoxide leak in your apartment."

"Don't put me in a box. There's nothing like a good honest articulation of class struggle."

He shook his head at her. "Ain't it a thing."

"Pardon me for bringing a little culture into your life."

As they drove along, Harvey pointed out landmarks like a tour guide. The overcrowded, crumbling apartment complexes, the broken fire hydrants gushing gallons of taxpayer dollars into the street, the baby thuglets hanging on the corner with their fellow grammar school thugs-in-training. He pulled up to the group of them, flipped on his blue and red flashers without the siren, and yelled out the window at the urchins. "Hey! Get the hell off this corner! Get your asses to school!" When half the kids scattered and the others muttered curse words just under their breath, Harvey rolled away, shouting, "Crack open a book! You are the future!"

As they made a sharp right turn, Madeline asked him, "Remind me again why you go all the way out here just to get your hair did?"

He rested his hand lazily on the steering wheel. "I've been through every barber shop and beauty salon on this island. Kushman's the only one who gets it right."

Harvey rolled to a stop in front of a cotton candy pink house that stood out like an eyesore on the drab street. On first glance it looked like a family home. However, it was clearly a business, as evidenced by the faded, chipping sign next to a lazily spinning candy-stripper which read, 'Kushman's Kutz'.

Madeline looked out the car window. "We're here? Already?"

Harvey sent her an odd stare. "Look it, if you want a full tour of the ghetto, we're gonna have to come back with a couple Kevlar vests."

"No, I just didn't have breakfast yet." She shrugged at him. "Hey, with you I always figure we're getting food first."

Harvey gave her that one. "There's a convenience store about a block down."

"Nah. I'll wait for something better. How long does a haircut take for you anyway?"

With his badge? "Don't worry. This'll be a short trip."

She got out of the car and slammed the door behind her, and Harvey did the same. She said, "Oh, I told Johnson we were out here. He's gonna meet us."

"Told you not to give that kid your number. The calls never stop."

She looked at him cutely. "I am but a vehicle to get to you."

"He's a pain in the ass. Makes my life harder."

"That kid worships you. And you love it."

"Well, if you want to keep him, you're the one who's gotta feed him and make sure he gets his shots. And before you ask? No, he will not be sleeping with us in the bedroom."

Madeline walked into the barber shop after Harvey. The room smelled like sweat and aftershave, and heat pressed in from all sides from the hair dryers, hot towels, and humming overhead florescent lights. The only relief from the humidity was a poorly running fan oscillating in the corner. They received stares from what she could have only assumed were the regulars. When she plopped down next to Harvey, she'd never felt so lily white in her life.

A veritable redwood of a black man with vertical dreads grinned to Harvey with teeth so white that they could have been in a toothpaste commercial. Madeline safely assumed this was Kushman. He said, "Hey, look at this smooth talkin' hat wearin' mother fucka rollin' up in here." They did a handshake that was too complicated for Madeline to replicate. He pointed to Harvey. "You still got hair underneath that lid?"

He took off his fedora and handed it to Madeline. "I got hair. It just ain't pretty. That's where you come in."

Kushman smiled at Madeline. "This your lady?"

She put up her hand in a simple wave. "Hello."

Harvey nodded to her. "Don't mind her costume. She got confused. Thought today was Halloween."

Kushman said smoothly. "I think you look fine. We can use somethin' a little easy on the eyes around this place."

"Why thank you," she said gracefully, sending Harvey a look.

Harvey put a hand on the man's shoulder and led him back towards the chairs. "All right, Casanova. I know it's hard to make this mug of mine more handsome, but let's see what you can do."

The two of them walked towards the back, and Madeline settled in, content to soak up the atmosphere, people watch, and eavesdrop where she could. She was only a few minutes into her anthropologic study, when she saw Johnson walk through the door. He wore a sharp blue suit with a pressed white collared shirt and a smooth grey tie. While he looked much more adult than usual, he still gave off that fresh-out-of-the-box vibe. Johnson turned around and plopped down next to her. It took her a moment to realize that he didn't...

Madeline nudged his shoulder and said. "Hey."

"Whoa. Hey," Johnson looked her up and down. "Uh… look at you."

She said, "I'm trying to blend in."

"Uh-huh. How's that workin' out for ya?"

"Fooled you, didn't I?"

(x)

Harvey settled back comfortably into the barber's chair. The haircut took around fifteen minutes, and because Kushman was good people, he finished things off with a close shave. He kept his head tipped back, and Kushman said, "Almost done. Just hold still unless you wanna wear a band-aid underneath your chin all day."

He froze and let the man work. Just because it hurt to be beautiful didn't mean he needed a fresh scar to remind him.

When the man finished up, Harvey accepted a steaming warm washcloth from Kushman and ran it over his face. Then he climbed to his feet and shelled out a generous tip. Kushman grinned and accepted the cash saying, "Thanks, man. 'Preciate it."

He walked away saying, "Adios, barberino."

When Harvey looked up, he saw Madeline talking with a small group of locals, one of which was holding a plate of brownies. Then he watched her pop the last bite of a brownie into her mouth. His shoulders fell and he stalked over to both her and Johnson. The locals dispersed naturally as he reached them. "Hey," he said to Madeline. "What's that you just ate?"

She said through the last few chews. "They gave me a brownie. I told you I didn't eat breakfast this morning."

Harvey stepped over to the group with the plate. He grinned easy-like and said, "Hey, that's a nice spread you got there. Changin' things up with some space cakes this morning?"

One of the guys grinned back. "Oh, yeah. These little babies are mad potent. Let that shit marinate for hours before we cooked these up. You want one?"

With nothing but good nature, he said, "Nah, you boys and girls enjoy. I'm good."

Christ on a cracker.

He looked back at Madeline still sitting next to Johnson. The kid had completely zoned out and was scrolling through his phone. He stepped up to Johnson and said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Johnson's eyes widened in shock and then in annoyance. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Harvey rolled his eyes. It only made it worse that the kid used one of his lines. He pointed both of his flattened hands at Madeline. "Why the hell didn't you step in and stop her from eating the edible?"

Madeline narrowed her gaze at Harvey. "What's the problem? It's just a brownie..." Then he watched realization and understanding hit her.

Slowly but steadily, Johnson got there, too. The kid broke into a peel of laughter.

Harvey dared him. "Somethin' funny about this?"

Johnson tried to wax sincere, but he just couldn't make it happen. He looked at Harvey, looked at Madeline, and looked back at Harvey. "Well…? I mean, she could always…?"

"She could always what? No, finish that sentence. Tell me how to unring this bell."

Johnson shrugged in a wide way. "She can always sync up her Wizard of Oz DVD with her Dark Side of the Moon record."

Madeline sat, tense and upright. Then she went into problem solving mode. "I can still throw it up," she said to them. "That'd work, right?"

Johnson said, "You can try, but I don't think it works that way. It's like saying you're just a little pregnant. You're either high or you're not."

Harvey smirked at Johnson. "Great to find out you're such a fine connoisseur of these things."

She sunk down further into her seat. Then a sudden wave of acceptance swept across her face. "Welp, I guess I'm not working today." She took out her cell phone. "And I should probably call out … right now."

Johnson said, "Yeah. Tell them you'll see them for therapy when you're not…" He laughed out. "Tripping balls."

Madeline stood up and hit him hard in the chest as she walked past. Johnson winced through his next laugh, and the door of the barber shop shut behind her.

Harvey slumped down next to Johnson. "Nice work over here, by the way. Way to take in your environment. Assess for suspicious characters. Profile and alert the public of possible threats."

Johnson held up his cell phone. "Tiffany's texting me a freakin' book about what an asshole I am. I'm officially gettin' it from all sides." He said, "Anyway. C'mon. It's not a bomb threat. It's a pot brownie."

Harvey tried to stay mad, but to his dismay, he found he couldn't. "Holy Ghost on a bicycle…"

Johnson appraised him. "Lookin' sharp by the way."

"Yeah, you too. Now all you need is to get your ass down to the high school before you miss out on prom."

A few minutes later, Madeline walked back inside the shop and put her phone away in her purse. "Well, the good news is that I am officially off today." She sat down next to Harvey and said, "And it's a good thing you are, too."

Harvey sighed to himself. It wasn't exactly the day he had scheduled for them.

Madeline started in again with her questions to their resident marijuana expert. "So, am I like … gonna be sick today or anything?"

Johnson leaned in, grinning. "You are gonna be -great- today, once it kicks in. I'd totally eat a brownie right now if I could, but I got court this afternoon."

Madeline asked, "How will I know when it 'kicks in'?"

"Trust me," he said. "You'll know."

Harvey asked Johnson. "Who you got court for?"

Johnson said, "Vlad the Mad. I figure it couldn't hurt if Vlad sees me in there. It'll let him and his lawyer know that if he spews any crap I'm gonna dispute it like hell."

Harvey blinked in a quick moment of surprise. If he didn't know any better, it was almost like kid had been paying attention to their cases this whole time. "You go do that." He sighed. "While I handle things with Mary Jane over here."

Johnson said, "You really ought to take her to play laser tag or to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Or one of those 3D movies down at the Cineplex."

He said dryly, "Thanks for the input."

Madeline perched Harvey's fedora atop the slouch hat that she still wore. She chewed on her lip and then said loudly. "I think I want pancakes."

"Yes." Johnson pointed to her in approval. "I agree. We should get pancakes."

Right, because there was no way Cheech was gonna miss the show with Chong. "C'mon, girl." He grabbed up Madeline's hand, a man resigned to his fate. "Let's get you some flapjacks."

When they walked into the restaurant down the street, Maddie greeted the hostess by saying, "What's crappenin', bitches?" She asked for a table for four, explaining that although at the moment there was only three of them, it was important to be open to possible networking opportunities and making friends. Maddie talked with Harvey and Johnson about great cosmic accidents that bring the right people together at the right time. But of course, she was too blazed to stay on one topic for too long. Harvey had heard the lyrics, 'tequila makes her clothes fall off'. Apparently, 'wacky tobaccy makes her mouth run off'. She cautioned them to beware of any person who spoke with crushing certainty with no room for doubt, because those were the crazies who could not be helped. After which, she shared with them how she deeply believed that her clients would not grow and change unless they felt they had some impact on her, the person treating them. Then she told them that she was glad her middle name wasn't Mandolin Lynn, and she was glad that her last name wasn't Lynn. Because then she'd be Madeline Mandolin Lynn Lynn.

After Johnson left for court, Harvey drove Madeline back to their side of town. She had a moment of paranoia, where she kept telling him, "I don't like this road. We can't drive down this road." He tried to explain to her that it was the expressway and unless she wanted a Thelma and Louise moment, she better just get used to the road. He was wasting his breath, but they powered through until the paranoia passed. At midnight, her high still hadn't worn off, so all her talk of 'cosmic accidents' prompted him to take her cosmic bowling.

Two things he heard that morning rang true. Those brownies were mad potent, and Johnson was right. She had a great day.


	20. Take It From Me

6 Years Prior

"Ready to hear some good news?"

Harvey kept his eyes on the road. "That'd be great for me," he said to his partner.

"I got some info after talkin' to Maroni's lower level guys. Now there's some cranky s.o.b.s. They are just losing every sort of territory."

Johnson Pickering unfolded a white sheet of paper from his pocket as he and Harvey drove through the city streets of Gotham. It was another beautiful day in the neighborhood. Most people looked forward to those sorta days, but not Harvey. Sixty-five degrees with no humidity meant more people out of their respective dark shadows and into the open streets. Nothing was more indicative of an impending crime spree than a week's worth of sunny skies and perfect weather.

Johnson showed Harvey a printer copy of a mugshot. "Meet Ray Gunn. Works for the Falcone family."

Ray Gunn. Well, there was an alias if he ever heard one. "Why doesn't he just call himself Lou Pole or Phillip D. Bag?"

"Hey, don't crap all over my lead. I gotta good feeling about this one." Johnson relaxed into the passenger seat. "Now all we gotta do is, uh, find him."

Harvey made a hard right turn. "Lucky for you, I got a little experience with that." He was pretty good at rousting mother fuckers and finding out who saw what. The fact that he couldn't find Dimitri Codmolov gave him a chill during the day and made it take a few extra minutes to fall asleep at night.

They tooled around Gotham in the squad car, stopping by each and every one of Falcone's establishments. A network of one-way streets that were more potholes than road eventually brought them to the south side of town.

Johnson growled out a short noise of impatience. "I hate this hide and go seek shit. When the heck are we gonna find this dickwad?"

Harvey tried not to laugh at how Johnson tried his very best to sound like the rest of the yo-yos in the precinct, himself included. He was mentally rolling through his lifetime collection of sarcastic comments, trying to pick the snappiest one, when they passed by Fish Mooney's.

He sat up, ramrod straight, as he put eyes on a stocky guy of Asian descent with a goatee and neck tattoos walking up the steps to her place. "How about we'll find him … by the end of this sentence." He rolled the cruiser up to the sidewalk and slammed on the brakes.

Harvey and Johnson stormed into Fish Mooney's and found Ray Gunn slouching on a stool at the bar. When the guy saw Harvey burst in, he went bug-eyed and bolted. Harvey groaned and reluctantly kicked into a run. He sort of hated it when his reputation preceded him.

Johnson took off like a bat out of hell and easily caught up with Ray as he bolted through the side door. The kid swiftly tackled him from behind and body-slammed him up against the brick wall of the alleyway next to the club. He grabbed Ray's throat and knocked his head into the wall, hard enough that for a moment his body went slack. Once he got his wits about him, Ray pulled out a knife, but Johnson reacted quickly, in easy, practiced moves. One by one he disarmed Ray of about seven different weapons. Each clattered noisily onto the pavement as he tossed them down.

Harvey reached them and let off a low whistle. "Looks like someone caught the buy one get one free deal on hunting knives at the swap meet."

Ray's words were muffled by the brick wall. "What the ... ? Hell do ya? .. Where'd ya get the…?"

Harvey flashed his badge. "Calm the hell down and stop talkin' like a Persian immigrant."

The guy huffed and wheezed. Clearly his criminal exploits weren't physically challenging enough to put him into any sort of condition to run anywhere. ...Not that Harvey had any room to talk on that one.

Harvey bore down, going face to face with Ray. "Here's how this little scenario works. We've got questions. You've got answers. Unless you don't want to have to explain to your dentist where all your teeth went, you better start talkin'."

Ray turned to the side, thankfully away from both of them, as he spit out blood. "Start talkin' about what?"

Harvey nodded encouragingly. "Let's hear about Mother Russia and what they've got next in the works. I'm a little concerned with the body count. It's lookin' a little too much like the Hurt Locker around this city." When the guy didn't immediately answer, Harvey said louder, "C'mon! I'm losing my patience here, Ray. Make with the names."

Just like everyone Harvey had questioned in the past week and half, Ray looked away and shook his head. "What makes you think I know anything about that shit?"

Johnson cut in, "We know you work for the higher-ups in this city. You better get with the jibber jabber."

Harvey's shoulders fell as he looked at Johnson. "...He better get with the jibber jabber? That's the best you got?"

Johnson deflated and whispered harshly. "Give me a break. I'm working my ass off over here."

"Look, put a thesaurus on your Christmas list. Maybe if you're good Santa'll bring you one."

"What's gonna be in there? Holy Moses? Sweet mother of saints?"

"Shut your piehole."

"Last time I asked you if you were sure, you said you were fuckin' sure as eggs."

"Where I come from that's standard."

"That's not even a thing."

Ray watched them back and forth like a tennis game as a thin line of blood seeped out of the corner of his mouth.

Harvey blinked his eyes and got back to work. "Word in the world is Dimitri Codmolov calls the shots and he's makin' moves left and right. We hear he's got a scrupulous mind for business, sharp as a tack. But we still gotta couple pieces missing. Little things like where he is and the time, date, and location of his next little air raid. I'm gettin' sick and tired of this mystery novel bullshit. So why don't you start filling in some blanks?"

Ray shook his head. "I don't know about that kind of-"

"Don't act like you don't know about Russian unabombers when you do!" he fired off, shouting into the man's face. "We know he's dirty, and we know he'd got a mind to wreck shit up."

Ray's face paled. "You don't want to mess with this," he said, sounding genuinely concerned. "I start talking about that sort of thing and-"

"And it might stop some carnage from being tonight's first story on the news circuit," Harvey said just as intensely. He tightened his grip on the guy's collar. "Or it'll be a good decision for the state of your internal organs if you're more concerned with current events."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Harvey heard the sharp click of stiletto heels come to a stop right behind him. He whirled around, and he found himself only inches away from Fish Mooney, who had her shoulders back and an unamused look in place. While he noticed her, Butch and another equally intimidating henchman, who was also built like a linebacker, quickly captured his attention.

Harvey sighed to himself. Once again, he forgot to smile for the cameras.

Miss Mooney gracefully rested her hands on her hips. "Hello, Harvey."

Harvey heard his partner mumble an "oh shit". At the same moment, he lowered his voice to a calm, submissive tone. "Miss Mooney, I'd like to take this opportunity to fully apologize. I intruded in on your business. Wasn't smart. I know that."

She closed the distance between them. "You're more right than you know, detective." She screwed up her face as she hissed. "I don't allow for this sort of foolishness to go down in my house."

Harvey kept his stare on the ground. "I hear that. A lotta people might not get that you're doin' 'em a favor, but I know you're just talkin' good sense." After a long moment, he peeked up at her. So don't kill me. Okay?

Fish tilted her head slightly, seeming to consider something. All it took was a simple snap of her fingers, and her goons relented and headed back inside. Fish stepped up close to Harvey, annunciating each word. "I'll chalk this up to a misunderstanding." She narrowed her eyes. "This time. Next time, I won't be so generous."

She turned an about face, and Harvey released an audible breath of relief. As she made her exit, Harvey turned his attention back to not-Ray Gunn.

The stocky guy had eyes as wide as a cartoon character's. He looked to Harvey, "So… this means … I'm not under arrest… right?"

Harvey released him. "Stupidity's not a crime. So you're free to go."

Ray took off the second Harvey finished talking, huffing it around the corner and out of sight. Johnson scratched his head and let off his own whistling sigh. "So, now what?"

"We thank the God of aging Irish detectives everywhere that we had lucky stars shinin' down on us. That's what."

Harvey glanced up to see Fish Mooney ascending the steps to her establishment. No sooner did she reach the top than Detective Esteban Fuentes walked through the open door and waddled out onto the stoop with her. Fuentes looked like he usually did, in desperate need of de-greasing. He whispered something to her, and she reached down into the curve of the bust-line of her dress. She pulled out a neatly folded wad of cash and handed it to Fuentes.

So that's why Harvey could never see her nipples through her dress. And Fuentes happened to be her latest snitch on payroll.

The day just kept getting better and better. He scored this one as yet another strikeout for Harvey Bullock.

When Fuentes noticed Harvey, his face settled into an intense glare.

Harvey stared back with his best Dirty Harry. Go ahead, punk. Make my day.

Eventually, Fuentes backed off, and when he did, Harvey found his gaze drawn to Fish Mooney. On one hand she was beauty personified, smooth and seductive in every way, and on the other hand she exuded complete and total power, all hard angles and confidence, her eyes taking in everything around her.

Her eyes took Harvey in, too. She openly appraised him, not in an aesthetic manner from what he could tell, just to observe him.

He cleared his throat and looked away, feeling embarrassment rush to his cheeks at the long stare he dared to give her. When he looked back up, he saw her walking back down toward them.

Harvey stood perfectly still, weighing his odds, waiting to see what would happen next. Behind him, he sensed Johnson doing the same.

Fish neared him, saying, "You seem to be running into some trouble lately, detective."

Harvey opened up his hands. "Usually I can charm some truth out of the low lives with my witty banter. I must be gettin' rusty."

"Or you're not hearing the answers they're trying to give you."

He felt himself studying her as she spoke. This deviated from the coy come-ons in which they typically engaged. "Somebody out there saw somethin'. Even if they aren't sayin' as much."

Fish gave an uncharacteristic hesitation. Then she lowered her voice, saying, "If you're looking for answers, you might want to try your luck down at the docks on Belair Avenue."

Harvey's eyebrows went up. "You don't say. Why would I want to try that?"

"Those fishermen have been known to tell all manner of stories. ...After they've had their third glass of cognac."

Harvey all but rocked back on his heels at her response. Then a sly smile rose to his face. "You know me. Nobody loves a glass of booze and a good bedtime story like I do."

Fish Mooney's left eyebrow arched. "You'll want to tread carefully, detective." She spoke softly as she turned back around. "There's a war brewing out there in our good city."

Harvey should have stopped there, but he found himself saying, "This war comin' our way. Which side might you be on?"

"Same side I'm always on." She shot him a fierce look over her shoulder. "Mine." With that, she whisked away, leaving Harvey to roll her words back and forth, over and under through his head, trying to make the right sense out of what she shared with him.

Johnson stepped forward as the door slammed shut behind her. "What … the hell in the hootenanny was that?"

"No idea," Harvey said dryly. "But we're gonna want to invest in some slickers and galoshes. 'Cause some next level shit is getting ready to rain down in Gotham."

The kid spoke like he'd just learned how to speak English. "Am I missing something or did Fish Mooney just threaten to put our lights out right before she gave us a lead?"

More like she'd just offered Harvey something in the neighborhood of an olive branch, or at the very least strongly suggested that he keep an open-door policy. He knew that door only swung one way, and he also knew better than to dismiss the idea outright.

He adjusted his hat and barreled forward back towards the car, saying, "Can't get nothin' past you, Encyclopedia Brown."

"It's my keen insight," Johnson said, falling into stride behind him. "It's almost like I'm a detective or something."

"Just do me a favor. And try not to have a good feeling about this next one," he said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "C'mon, we gotta scare up a gallon of cognac and feed it to some fishermen."

Harvey and Johnson climbed back into the car and took off down the street. Just like Miss Mooney, they got back to business as usual.


	21. Laugh Till I Cry

6 Years Prior

Harvey groaned as he eased himself down into one of the wooden chairs opposite his Captain's desk. Only a moment or two passed before Johnson joined him, collapsing into the seat next to him. They sat together in silence, while behind them the general noises of police officers talking, arrested men and women protesting, the television blaring the latest news story, and phones ringing unanswered filtered through the open door of her office.

He glanced over at the kid. "How's your face?"

Johnson touched his chin and winced. "Fucker got me good."

Harvey took an inventory of his own injuries. That afternoon he met not one but two bullets that almost had his name on them. The first cut across his left shoulder, and the other grazed him in the right side just above his waistline. Thankfully, both surface wounds were currently numb from the anesthetic the EMT shot into him before she stitched him up. His forehead still throbbed a fierce drumbeat, had since he took that solid punch to the side of the head. Lucky for him all he needed were a couple butterfly closures for the open wound on his temple. Johnson escaped with only minor cuts and scrapes aside from the black and blue swollen mess beneath his chin.

His partner looked to the side in thought. "I like how you took down that guy with the face tattoo."

"Right hook to the solar plexus." Harvey twisted the cap off his flask and took a long drink. "Gets the job done."

When Harvey offered him the flask, Johnson murmured 'hell yeah' and accepted it. "When I saw that lumberjack dude drag that pickax out of the trunk…"

Harvey nodded sagely. "When mining tools enter the dance floor that always amps up the tempo of the meringue."

Captain Sarah Essen breezed through the open doorway back into her office and sat down behind her desk. "Good work today, gentlemen."

Harvey said, "Always a pleasure doin' business."

Johnson took another swig, brought down the flask, and said, "We found a whole lotta contraband in their work room. Lotta drugs, guns, and shit."

Harvey shared a lightning fast glance with Essen as they listened to the kid ramble. He got the feeling Johnson meant to sound seasoned and experienced, but he only got as far as sounding young and sure of himself.

Johnson swallowed down another gulp of booze. "They cooked up enough material to make a few decent time bombs while they were at it."

Harvey said, "Everybody's got a fetish. Theirs is a little more on the mushroom cloud side of things."

"We totally nailed them," Johnson declared, not even trying to hide his pride. He looked at the Captain. "Could have been pretty bad if we hadn't."

Harvey said, "Too bad they won't get to broaden those criminal horizons. Outside a jail cell anyway."

Essen kept things simple. "You got your perpetrators. That's what matters."

Harvey watched her carefully for a moment, noticing the way that she dialed down their flow of speculation. He grabbed up the flask from Johnson and tipped it back until the last drops were gone.

That was when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "What happened to you two?"

Harvey and Johnson turned together to see Madeline standing in the doorway. She wore the dark green "power-look" business outfit that always made him think dirty thoughts. It hugged her curves nicely and only further amplified her general 'I'll kick your ass if you step out of line' attitude. But it wasn't only that. Something about a redhead in green set off his bells and whistles in a welcome way.

He was thinking of telling her that she looked hotter than an East End Rolex, but then as he moved his eyes up to her expression, he decided that might not be the best idea.

(x)

Madeline focused in solely on Harvey, and as soon as she saw the cuts on his face, she felt her stomach drop. She stepped forward and gingerly touched the side of Harvey's head. Her voice held deep worry. "Are you okay?"

Harvey said, "I was fightin' Johnson for the last Oreo."

Johnson added, "I told him. I called it first."

She shot them both a condescending stare and refused to play along. "All right, you both need to dial it down. I'm legitimately concerned over here."

Essen spoke up. "No need to be. They became involved in some exciting cop versus crook heroics, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. They even managed to close a case while they were at it."

So the criminals responsible were no longer on the streets. They were in her prison, or headed there. The information caused her to physically relax, but only by a measure or two. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad to hear it. Which case got closed?"

Johnson said, "Another one with the Russians." He jerked a thumb at Harvey. "They don't like him."

Madeline watched his offhand comment get Harvey's dander up, and he shot Johnson a death glare.

It took the kid a moment to notice. He flinched once he caught on. "What? They don't."

Madeline wanted to stay emphatically concerned, maybe even a little angry, but found both feelings slipping away despite her best efforts. She stood up straight and clicked her tongue as she affectionately ruffled Harvey's head of hair. "Well, that's just because they haven't gotten to know him yet."

"Once they do, they better watch out." Johnson laughed at his own joke before he said it out loud. "They're gonna catch feelings."

Madeline crossed her arms. "Are you…" She took a good look at Johnson. "Are you drunk again?"

He swiftly said, "Are you changing your name to Judgey Buzzkillington again?"

Harvey glanced up at her and offered, "Might have given him a couple shots."

She smirked at his partner. "Lightweight."

Johnson stared forward away from her, and he sang out softly, "Buffalo Soldier… Dreadlock rasta."

Madeline looked at him strangely and then her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Harvey snorted at his partner's antics.

Johnson started tapping his foot to the beat. "There was a Buffalo soldier. In the heart of America."

Madeline felt her cheeks turning a ripe ruse of red, and Essen arched an eyebrow in question at the three of them.

Harvey sat back before relaying the story. "These two tagged along while I got my haircut on Luther Street." He motioned to Johnson. "Tweedle Dum…" Then he pointed to Madeline. "...let Tweedle Dee over here eat a 'baked' brownie."

Despite his partner calling open season on verbal harassment, Madeline relented, "It's not the kid's fault. I was hungry and… had never been to Kushman's Kutz."

Johnson snickered, doing an awful job of holding back his laughter. "She wouldn't stop laughing at something she overheard the barber say. She kept saying, 'He said the stripper's tits were like a pair of Christmas socks.' But that wasn't even what she found funny. She said, 'It's Christmas -stockings-. Not socks.'"

Then that started Harvey in, too.

Behind them, Madeline rolled her eyes. "It was not funny."

Harvey leaned in and said to Essen, "It was pretty funny."

Essen shared a sympathetic stare with Madeline. "Such are the hazards of getting your haircut in the 'hood."

Harvey said, "It livened up our Friday." He nudged Madeline with his elbow. "You think I can eat? You should've seen munchies over here."

She nodded reluctantly, as the information happened to be accurate. "I ate six pancakes."

"Seven," Harvey corrected.

Madeline said, "And an entire jumbo bag of jelly beans. I don't even like jelly beans." Laughter shook out of Essen's shoulders, which only made Harvey and Johnson laugh harder. As she watched the three of them, she couldn't help but feel that their laughter sounded a little unhealthy. They looked an awful lot like three people who had just narrowly avoided a car crash. She wondered just how dangerous the situation they downplayed had actually been, and then she finished with, "My stomach still isn't right."

Essen said, "Steer clear of little Harlem next time and you ought to be fine."

Madeline frowned and shook her head as she took a closer look at the fresh bruises and cuts on Harvey's face. "How long is it gonna take for these to clear up?"

Johnson said, "I hear it helps if you kiss it and make it better."

She ignored the comment and looked to their Captain. "All right, I hate to break up the intelligent discourse, but I didn't just come here just for the yucks…" She held out a crisp manila file folder to her.

Essen blinked and accepted it. She perused the paperwork inside. "That fast, huh?"

"Well…" Madeline opened up her hands. "I do get more and more experience with these types every day."

Harvey asked, "Wassat all about?"

She answered, "Profile. Or the best profile I could manage with what information we've got."

"I appreciate it," Essen said, setting the folder down on her desk. "I'll have a check printed up for you by tomorrow."

Madeline waved the idea away. "Just give these two chuckleheads a hard time whenever you can and we oughtta be straight."

A smirk inched onto her face. "I already do that."

Madeline shrugged, unworried. "We'll figure something out." She glanced over Harvey's injuries once more, and when she looked down, she noticed a deep, dark stain of dried blood on the side of his shirt. Her breath came to a dead stop in her throat, and unwelcome images and thoughts crowded up her mind. She swallowed and reminded herself to breathe while upset words stuck in her throat. She needed to speak them aloud and soon, but she also knew this wasn't the time or place. As such, Madeline didn't to press the issue, and instead she said, "All right. I'll get out of here. Let you guys wrap up."

Johnson grinned. "You ganga get going?"

She looked to Johnson. "Maybe your IQ should smoke some weed. Then it would be higher." Johnson muttered something about how she was a lot more fun when she had the chronic in her system, and then she said to Harvey, "I'll see you later?"

He said, "I'll bring the pie."

When Madeline walked back down the stairs, she could still hear Johnson singing. "Woy, yoy, yoy. Woy, yoy, yoy, yoy…"

(x)

Johnson sang himself downstairs and Harvey stood up carefully from the chair. He pressed his lips together tightly so he wouldn't audibly wince when he got to his feet. Before he left, he said to Essen, "You know the three members of the crew we picked up… They're just lower management. The fish head they're rotting from is Dimitri Codmolov."

Essen didn't look astounded by the observation. She only said, "Such is the nature of the beast."

Harvey heard her telling him to back off without her having to spell it out in bold letters. He decided it was in his best interest to change the subject and nodded to her desk. "So whose profile you got there?"

Essen broke open the folder. "One Victor Zsasz. Started working for Falcone a few months back."

"You lookin' to bring him in?"

"If I only wanted to do that, I wouldn't need a profile on him," she said. "I need us to be aware of his operating system before our paths eventually cross."

He began to turn away, when Essen called to him. "Hey, Harvey. Johnson understands the protocol." The way she said it made it sound more like a question than a statement. "The way things work around here."

Harvey answered with a shrug. "Monkey see, monkey do."

He'd hoped that might clear things up, but he still saw that hint of uncertainty that remained in her stare. As he left and headed back downstairs, Harvey gently touched the side of his head. Or maybe he was seeing things. That might be something he'd need to reconsider after fully recovering from his most recent head injury.

Harvey stopped by his desk and prepared to hit the 'ole dusty trail, when one of the rookies walked up to him. "Detective Bullock?"

He said dismissively, "If it's paperwork, give it to Pickering."

The young female officer held out a smooth, cream-colored envelope. "Someone dropped this off specifically for you."

Harvey ripped open the envelope and lifted up a small, crisp piece of card stock. In neat handwriting the paper read:

'I will burn you.'

Harvey frowned as the words drew a cold line up his back. He chased after the rookie and gently grabbed her arm. "Hey, did you see who dropped this off?" Within a short period of time, the officer recognized the face of the courier from a photo at the bottom of their notice board. One of the Russian Mob's errand boys.

Harvey left the precinct an hour later, stopped by the diner to pick up two slices of blackberry peach pie, and spent the night at Madeline's place. That night in her bedroom, he watched sleep descend upon her easily while he experienced the opposite. He laid on his back in the dark, the turbines of his mind revving up instead of powering down. At some point he must have drifted off, because he woke before the sun rose. Still thinking about how he'd put the newest death threat from Dimitri Codmolov off to the side of his desk instead of filing it away with all the others.


	22. Mea Culpa

6 Years Prior

Madeline breathed in deeply as best she could, even though heavy humidity pressed all around her, making her fight for it. The sweltering heat only reminded her of how many more days and weeks she had to slog through before the summer was out. There was air conditioning in Blackgate in some of the upstairs file rooms and definitely in Warden Grey's office, but nowhere else on prison grounds. Some inmates fashioned newspapers into fans. Some who worked in the kitchen could take turns standing in the gigantic fridge in the back. But mostly, the men just sweat their asses off from June through early September.

The one positive was that riots and outbursts were at an all time low. It was just too freaking hot to misbehave.

Madeline made her way to the therapy room, pulling up her red, frizzy hair into a tight ponytail with a black rubber band. As she reached the one way window, she nodded a 'hey there' to Wilson Bishop, who stood alongside another younger guard.

Sweat prickled Wilson's brow as well. The guards had it worse. They had to be in full uniform all day, every day, no matter what the heat index. He pushed up his hat and asked her, "Hot enough for you?"

After a moment's thought, she said, "We could set the lobby on fire. It might cool things down."

Wilson motioned to the room. "You ready?"

Madeline met his eye and held up her crossed fingers.

Wilson mirrored the gesture, and she looked in on her next client. With a short sigh, she squared her shoulders and walked inside.

Jack Buchinsky sat in his usual position, his wrists secured in cuffs, thick horn-rimmed glasses in place. His hair fell flat against his forehead and visible sweat sheened upon the sides of his face. He sent her his regular, "Good afternoon, doctor."

She slid into her seat and pushed up her shirt sleeves. "Hello, Jack."

He asked her. "How are you feeling today?"

Madeline's eyebrows rose upon hearing her typical question thrown back at her. "Medium rare, on my way to well done." She followed it up with, "I know I shouldn't be shocked that there's no money in the budget for air conditioning, so I'm trying not to be."

He sent her a smile, one that reminded her of the Cheshire Cat's, more smile than substance. He spoke with quiet certainty. "From what I understand, if anyone could persuade this institution to reconsider its position on the matter, it would be you."

His comment was laced with so much subtext that she ignored it on principle. "How are you making it through living in a sweat lodge?"

"The same way anyone endures anything. With infinite patience." He squinted at her, his eyes far too shrewd for her comfort. "Though I don't expect that I'll be staying behind these walls long enough for it to matter."

Madeline didn't have infinite patience, let alone the patience required to sit through another imaginative, murderous monologue. "I'll take that to mean that you're continuing to have escape fantasies."

Jack spoke in a faintly patronizing tone. "No. I haven't experienced those flights of imagination for some time. They've grown … tedious. As such, I've moved on from having them."

As if changing a behavior were just that simple. Flicking off a light switch when you wanted dark, flicking it on when you wanted light. "Yet you sound very certain that you won't be a prisoner at Blackgate for much longer."

"Why wouldn't I be certain? I have you."

"...Me?"

"It's becoming a well known fact that your patients are given legal assistance during their sessions. You can imagine my surprise upon hearing this information secondhand from other inmates." He narrowed his gaze at her. "It would seem you've been holding out on me, doctor."

Madeline gritted her teeth behind her closed mouth. The main problem was that Jack was right. Ever since the Fuentes episode at the GCPD, if she felt an inmate was possibly innocent, she kept it to herself but got them in touch with pro-bono lawyers who could assist them in the appeals process. She thought she'd been successful in doing so quietly. Apparently, she'd thought wrong. "It sounds like you're hurt that I haven't offered you help with your charges."

"No," he corrected. "Not hurt. Perplexed."

Frustration welled up inside her, and she tried her best to stop it from showing up in her face or her voice. "Do you feel in any way that your arrest or trial was handled unfairly? Is there any new evidence that points to your innocence?"

"You'll want to reconsider how you're responding. You're focusing far more on the content of our session, when really you should be tending to the process."

Madeline tilted her head and blinked at him in confusion. Immediately, she wished that instead she'd kept a bland poker face, but it was too late to correct. So she had little recourse but to speak it into the room. "I'm sure you can understand why I'm … surprised to hear you say that."

"Is it so surprising that someone engaging in therapy would seek out information as to how sessions are conducted?"

She took a deep breath and tried to be practical. But she couldn't shake her unease. "No, it's beneficial to become as knowledgeable as possible about the treatment you receive. It can be empowering for someone to have that information."

Jack sent her that hawk-eyed stare again. "Since we're on the subject, might I ask, which treatment are you using to fix me?"

"Fix you. You think I'm here to 'fix you'? Like you're a broken latch or a car that won't start…?"

"Or an inmate who won't stop sharing 'escape fantasies' in which the therapist plays a central role."

She pressed her lips together, thinning them down. "You say you want to know what type of treatment I'm providing." She politely called bullshit. "Is that really the question you want answered, Jack?"

He appraised her. "I would ask about my diagnosis, but I'm fairly certain you'd only find a way to sidestep that as well."

Madeline tried her best to sound bold. "I think what you really want to ask is: Can I actually help you? Or is this all just a waste of time for both of us?"

The edge of his mouth twisted into a hint of a smug smile. "You still haven't answered my question."

"About your treatment or your diagnosis?" She kept her voice low and steady. "I use several variations of cognitive behavioral therapy in our sessions, and I diagnosed you with antisocial personality disorder, which a lot of people think is a sentence. But it's not."

Jack asked her. "Would you be so kind, doctor, as to share with me how I meet the criteria?"

He was talking to her like she was a student and he was her supervisor, a supervisor who was suspicious about the student's quality of work. It was almost as if the question didn't pertain to him at all. "No, I'd rather focus on a pattern I'm observing right now instead."

Jack opened forth his hands as much as he could with the cuffs in place. "By all means, doctor."

Madeline tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and tried to ignore the stale heat as well as the headache itching at her temples. "I think you've been testing me, seeing how much I can stand, before I inevitably reject or disappoint you. No doubt like many other people you've encountered in your life."

She could see his brain ticking behind his eyes. "It's interesting that you see these sessions as a test on which you could be graded. Though I suppose it's not entirely unexpected. It couldn't have been that long since you completed you last postgraduate course…" He said, "This test I'm giving you. Are you passing?"

Whether from the unbearable heat or the unexpected direction the session took, Madeline stopped trying to hold back her growing irritation. "If I am, it's only just barely." She threw up her hand as she spoke. "The whole point of these meetings is to give you a different experience of yourself and to teach you how to start to have a trusting relationship. So far, the only relationship we've developed is that of interrogator and convicted felon."

The faux concern that washed over his face was eclipsed only by his flat condescending tone of voice. "That must be frustrating."

"It is," she remarked. "It's frustrating that my only role here is that of 'investigator'."

Jack declared, almost brightly. "If I'm hearing you correctly you don't only sound frustrated. You sound angry."

The role reversal taking place only made that anger worsen. "If I am angry, it's because you won't engage with me in any way that doesn't put us on opposite sides of a playing field."

He blinked, which was only remarkable for how infrequently she saw it happen. "And what's underneath your anger?"

Madeline flinched, hearing yet another one of her regular questions disdainfully directed back at her. She wanted to fire something back at him, something to undermine him and put him back in his place, but she was too busy feeling aggravated and useless.

Jack said, "I only ask because whenever I touch upon something that has to do with you... you look very scared."

The casual observation left her staring. "Why would I get scared about talking about myself?"

"Because then I might find you out," he said with an air of confidence. "That you are not the expert you purport to be." He clicked his tongue in thought. "You become very stressed when you think I might find out any detail of your life. It's as if I might figure out that you aren't above human impulses after all."

"Well, over here on my side, I'm experiencing just the opposite. I'd say it's impossible for me to be an expert in here when I have you listing off every one of my shortcomings." She began to discourse, "I'm concerned for everyone else's innocence but yours. I focus on the content when I should be tending to the process. I boil you down to a simple diagnosis and give you cookie-cutter treatment. I only just received my doctorate, so I'm far too naive and inexperienced to help you. I don't disclose enough about my personal life. I get angry and upset in your sessions." She flattened her back against the chair and said dryly, "It's a wonder you don't fire me on the spot."

Jack smiled but without warmth. "Is that a fantasy _you_ have, doctor? You fantasize about me ending therapy with you?"

Madeline frowned at him deeply and kept her next thought to herself. _I'm trying not to get pushed into a tunnel when I talk to you, where there's no light, only darkness, where I can't get my bearings or figure out where the hell to take us next._

Instead, she spoke slowly and with great clarity. "Right, I want to leave you. Just like so many other people who were supposed to be strong enough to take care of you, but they weren't. They neglected you. Probably abused you. They were cruel and selfish. You had no choice but to trust them, and they let you down."

"You're so quick to bring up your impressions of my past," he said. "But you don't focus on what's in the room with us right now." He leaned forward. "You've never told me how you feel about what I did."

Madeline's eye twitched, uncertain exactly as to what he referred, and she waited for him to elaborate.

He looked at her openly. "You've never told me how you feel about the fact that I've killed innocent people."

She began to feel a deep sinking sensation in her gut, and it took her a moment to piece together an answer. "I feel that it must be difficult for you, living with the aftermath of that decision." Jack started in with another observation, and she spoke over-top of him. "Do you see how you start talking about murder and violence the moment I bring up anything remotely emotional?"

He leveled a look at her. "I see that you have this all figured out. Isn't that what you want?"

Madeline audibly sighed at the response and looked down at her watch.

A bemused smile crossed Jack's face at the action and he huffed a short laugh. "Am I boring you, doctor?"

She looked up. "No, I was checking to see how much more time I have left to try to connect with you before our hour's up. I'm trying to figure out how I can interrupt your suspicion of my intentions and your obsession with getting a reaction out of me within the next seven minutes. I gotta tell you something. It's not looking good for me."

"You're so determined to fit me into this neat little box you've made for me."

"Yeah, well, I know the feeling," she threw back at him. "I think you want to see me angry and scared in here, Jack. Then at least you'll get to experience a real, honest interaction with another human being. Instead of being thrown away in a cage or ignored by the guards or treated like a monster."

He studied her carefully. "It must make you feel so invigorated, so powerful to be so sure of yourself."

Madeline uncrossed her arms, and she gave being sincere her best shot. "Tell me what it's like for you, Jack. What it's like for you in this prison. What it was like for you growing up. What it's like for you at any point during any day in your life."

For a moment, something in him seemed to physically relent, but it was so small that even Madeline was willing to admit that she might have been seeing things. He spoke quietly, "I would tell you, doctor. But it's no use. You're only going to hear what you want to hear."

She sat up fully. "I'm a good shrink. And you're cut off from the human race. You need to give what's going on in here a real shot, before you're lost and you disconnect completely."

Jack stared sharply back at her, still as a statue, but didn't reply. It was almost as if what she'd just said had proven his point exactly.

Madeline leaned back in her seat, exhausted, and she grew suddenly aware of the slick drip of sweat that collected down her back, underneath her arms, and behind her knees. When she spoke again, the words came out more gently. "So tell me your secret."

The request seemed to pique his interest. "If you want me to answer, you're going to need to be much more specific."

"It's hotter than the surface of the sun in this place and you say you're getting through it with infinite patience." She exhaled loudly and and crossed one leg over the other. "How the hell are you managing that anyway?"

He said, "I read. It helps pass the time."

She considered that and asked, "What're you reading right now?"

"I'm making my way back through the works of William Shakespeare. I've read them before, but with the true classics, there's always a new facet to discover."

She nodded, absently staring off. "I've always been drawn to 'The Tempest' myself."

"Well, that," he said, just barely smiling at her, "is not surprising."

After a short moment, she said in a tired voice, "That puts us at time."

Jack nodded curtly in reply.

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. "From now on when I see you in here, I don't want to hear pedantic psychological rationales or my many flaws listed out in bullet points or any possible details of my personal life that you manage to dig up from canvassing the men on your block." She looked him in the eye. "I want you to give me something real. Something that's from you."

With that, Madeline walked over to push the call button, and within moments a guard joined them to lead Buchinsky back to his cell. As Jack passed her, he said, "Last night I started re-reading MacBeth." When she met his eye, there was a glint she didn't care for. "I'm seeing the play quite differently than I did upon the first few readings. Now I believe the main theme is: Be careful what you wish for. Because you just might get it."

Madeline looked away from Jack as he left with the guard. When she was certain that he was out of hearing range, she collapsed back into her aluminum folding chair and released a heavy sigh of exasperation. She ran her hand over her face, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. When she brought her hand down, she peered over her shoulder to see Wilson Bishop amble inside the room.

He looked her over. "... That bad, huh?"

She tipped back her head and stared at the ceiling for a moment before glancing back at him. "He didn't say I'd go well with fava beans and a nice Chianti, so you know, that's an upside."

Wilson smirked, but it faded quickly. "Anything we need to be worried about?"

She shook her head as if shaking the idea away. "Nah, nothing like that. He just wasn't feelin' my vibe today."

"You oughtta take a breather before your next one."

"I got a few minutes to relax before my three 'o clock. Of course, it doesn't help that this place is turning my brain into soup." She pushed wet strands of hair out of her face. "I need a cold drink."

Wilson grinned a little. "Or maybe some wine?"

"Yeah." She stood up and they both left the room. "Like maybe the whole bottle."

Madeline took her time walking back to her office, thinking about how Jack was right. She wanted out. She did fantasize about ending therapy with him. She dreaded his sessions. Why wouldn't she? He set all her nerves on fire for the rest of the day and most of the night.

Jack Buchinsky didn't think she gave two shits about him. Ironically, she thought about him far more than she preferred. About how he was probably a child of the foster care system. Probably so disassociated and self-destructive that he terrified his caregivers, no doubt earning himself the title of 'manipulative liar' before he was done grade school. Most grown-ups who were brutalized as children carried a smoldering rage that took a great deal of energy to contain. So how did Jack deal? He said and did every repulsive, terrifying thing he could to make her back off … and he pondered the complete works of Shakespeare in his downtime.

She supposed in a very weird way it made sense. Love and hate, aggression and surrender, loyalty and betrayal. It was the stuff of theater. And of trauma. Anyone in contact with extreme pain, suffering, or death had no difficulty understanding Shakespearean tragedy.

She shivered a little at her next thought. The problem was the more time she spent getting to know him, the more time he spent getting to know her, too.

_And I'm not helping him._

Madeline prepared for her next session. Even as she did so, she kept hearing MacBeth's famous line loop over and over again in her mind. About how life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.


	23. Come Out and Play

6 Years Prior

Harvey Bullock moved through a maze of nondescript white-washed hallways, right, right, left, right, until he came across a thick industrial door with a dented doorknob. He turned the knob, and the door loudly clunked open. Inside he found a well-stocked maintenance closet and Lyle Jacoby leaning against the side wall.

As a free man, Lyle traded his prison getup for the surfer look, which he wore from his Ray Bans and orange muscle shirt down to his board shorts and Birkenstocks. The way he kept his long graying hair knotted into a bun at the base of his neck only completed the effect.

When he saw Harvey, he looked mildly surprised. "Huh, you found it."

Harvey closed the door behind him. "Y'oughtta count yourself lucky. I usually only take these little side trips with folk who look way prettier in a skirt than you do."

Lyle used his right foot to push himself off the wall. "If it'll make you feel more comfortable, you can still give me cab fare home."

Harvey appraised the man before him. Aside from loosely resembling an extra on Baywatch, Lyle looked like he had his shit together. "You're layin' off the speedballs," he said as he realized it.

Lyle shrugged. "Got a sponsor."

Harvey looked around the closet. "What made you wanna meet here?"

"Buddy of mine works here as a janitor. Figured it'd be off the grid."

"You back to work?"

"I take side jobs where I can find 'em. The money's legit, for the most part."

He pointed at him. "You promise to keep yourself on the straight and narrow, I might be able to help you out in that last department."

That made his eyebrows go up. "What you got for me?"

"I'm chasin' a rumor." He handed Lyle a black and white photograph of a Russian man with a cold, dark stare. "You locate him for me, you can have my next paycheck."

Lyle accepted the photograph. "Must be pretty bad if you're giving up your rent money."

"You have no idea," Harvey growled out. "This guy's a ghost. Those plumbers on the SyFy network are diggin' up more incriminating evidence than I am."

He studied the picture and looked back up at Harvey with a frown. " … You know who this guy is?"

"I know his first name starts with Dimitri and his last names starts with Codmolov." He heard Lyle mutter a curse under his breath. "Believe me. I wish I didn't."

"You know, there's a reason no one's talking to you about this guy."

Harvey nodded, aggravated. It was the summer's most overplayed hit song on repeat. "You just help me find him. I'll do the rest."

Lyle scratched his head and cast him a concerned stare. "Look, Harvey, I'm not sure you wanna get mixed up with this…"

"Yeah, that ship's sailed," he said neatly. "This asshole's got major beef with me. He's on the warpath. I gotta end this, plain and simple."

Lyle gave a short, almost imperceptible nod. "I can't promise anything." He took out his wallet and slid the picture inside. "But I'll do what I can."

""S'a hell of a long shot, brother. I owe you one." He half-smiled at Lyle before he said, "How's the wife?"

He made a short, uncomfortable noise. "Nikki's got one foot out of the door. She's callin' it a 'trial separation'." He put up his hands. "What're you goin' do, right?"

Harvey offered, "Yeah, well. It ain't over 'til it's over, right?"

Lyle's nod allowed for it.

"How're the ankle biters?"

"Gaby went and turned twelve…At least now she and Kaylee are in the same school." He smiled for a second. "Kaylee got the lead in the school musical."

"Tell her Uncle Harvey says 'atta girl.'"

Lyle nodded a 'will do'. "You still seein' that same dime?"

Harvey sent him a strange look, and then memory slowly assisted him. That's right; he got shnockered and started to ramble after his fifth gin and tonic at Iggy's. He shrugged. "'Long as she lets me."

Lyle chuckled at that. "Best of luck."

"You and me both." Harvey saluted the man as they went down the hallway in opposite directions, not unlike they might have at Blackgate.

As far as Harvey could tell, he had two problems with luck. First, he didn't believe in it, and second, he almost never seemed to find any.

(x)

Harvey backtracked the way he came and pushed open a heavy metal door. As soon as he did, the roar of the crowd boomed all around him as the masses cheered, whooped, and hollered on the fourteenth level of Gotham City Stadium. Above him the sky was impossibly blue with puffy white clouds frozen in the sky like a photograph. It would have been perfect weather for a ball game if it wasn't for the sub-tropical heat wave. Gotham in July was hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night. He snapped his attention to the baseball diamond as he heard the crack of a Louieville slugger and saw a curveball fly up into the outfield.

He reached his seat, where Madeline and Johnson stood applauding the hitter. Johnson called out, "That's right! Suck on that, Monarchs!"

Harvey leaned down to ask Madeline. "What'd I miss?"

She adjusted her baseball cap. Scratch that, his baseball cap. Though he knew better than to say anything. She'd only claim it as spoils of war. "Two outs. One home run. And the kid's trying to get one of the outfielders to fight him after the game."

Harvey looked over to find Johnson leaning over the railing and just barely garnering the attention of the baseball player. "HEY, LOMBARD!" An outfielder in a bright red Metropolis Monarchs' uniform cast Johnson half a face, and the kid shouted out, "THE KNIGHTS DON'T MISS YOU!" He kept going. "BY THE WAY THE BALL IS THE THING YOU CATCH!"

Madeline observed, "He's making good progress from what I can see." Then, she mock-gasped. "Oh, and I thought of one."

Harvey settled in, watching the game. "Let's hear it."

"Would you rather fight a kangaroo or a chimp?"

"...That's it? That's your best 'would you rather?'"

"I mean. You don't have to fight either of them… You could just sit this one out. You know, if it's too dangerous for you..."

He answered, "Kangaroo."

"Don't they have claws?"

"Beats me," he said. "But I saw this YouTube video where a chimpanzee went straight for the guy's family jewels. Right before he tried to bite his face off."

"Ouch," she said.

"That shit went on for four minutes, six seconds."

Johnson checked back into the conversation. "Guess he owed him money."

Harvey said, "That's something you oughtta keep in mind, Freeloader McGee. Your grandkids are still gonna be payin' me interest."

Johnson said easily, "Nah. You're not gonna live that long. The way you eat."

Harvey started to make a retort, but Madeline beat him to the punch. "Lay off, numbnuts. You're proof evolution can go in reverse."

Blinking into the sun, Harvey nodded, momentarily impressed at the comeback that just as easily could have been his.

Johnson did a decent job of pretending to shake in his boots. "Ooo, spoken insults from the terrifying Madeline Scott. I'm real scared."

"You say that now. I can head shrink you any time any place." She adjusted herself so that she stood importantly and whispered with malicious glee, "I might even be doing it right now."

"Save it for your sessions," Johnson said. "Where you tell them that the real prison is in their mind."

Madeline nudged Johnson's shoulder. "By the way, you eat just as much deep fried crap as he does."

Johnson grinned as he ran his hands down his flat stomach. "Yeah, but I don't show it."

She said, "That's because you're twelve" while Harvey said, "You're a freak of nature."

"No, that's 'cause I hop on that treadmill." When Lombard missed the ball for the third time, Johnson shouted at the top of his lungs. "NICE PLAY, SHAKESPEARE!" This earned him a steely-eyed glare from the ball player. Once he had his attention, Johnson called out, "YOUR DAD WAS RIGHT! YOU SUCK!"

Harvey said, "Just so you know, when this game lets out, you're on your own."

Johnson immediately called his bluff. "Yeah, right. Like you'd miss a throwdown."

Madeline said to Johnson, "Your turn, by the way."

The kid sprung to life. "Ooo, Kanye West or Justin Bieber?"

She shrugged and answered, "Both."

Harvey and Johnson turned to look at her, their eyebrows raised.

She quipped, "In a wood chipper."

Johnson popped off a laugh, and Harvey said, "There's some music she could dance to."

The inning came to an end, and they clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Madeline turned to Harvey. "Cronut or funnel cake?" After a short pause, she said, "No, really. I'm hungry."

Harvey moved aside for her to walk upstairs and opened his arm in 'ladies first' fashion. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

(x)

The upstairs food court was packed, swarming with people from one end to the other. Harvey moseyed his way through the crowd with an easy long-legged stride, but Madeline still had to walk double-time to keep pace with him. He slowed down to a crawl for her benefit, and that gave him a chance to scan the faces of the folks thrumming by, most of whom he recognized.

Harvey lightly punched the shoulder of a Hispanic man in his late forties as he approached him. "You again. I can't be seen talkin' to you."

He smiled pleasantly. "Hey-hey, Bullock."

"How's the family?"

"Givin' me gray hairs. You still with the force?"

"They haven't fired me yet. It's sorta like AA. Showing up is half the job."

Next Harvey came across a young couple, or more accurately almost bulldozed into them. The wife got out of his way, saying, "Uh-oh, cops are here!" She rested her hands on her husband's shoulders as they moved over to the opposite side of the walkway. "You should write my hubby a ticket. He's holdin' up traffic."

Harvey shook the guy's hand as he passed, "I'm lettin' you off with a warning this time." He yelled over his shoulder, "Don't make it a habit, Marco! I got my eye on you!"

As they elbowed their way forward, a small cluster of middle-aged women caught his eye. He raised his voice, "Hey, who let all these pretty girls in here?"

That earned him resounding, grateful giggles and a stout woman called back, "I'd say that's Harvey Bullock, except I don't see a drink in your hand."

He sassed back in a carefree go-to-hell way, "Damn, sister. Clock just struck one. I'm playin' the long game. I gotta pace myself."

He could feel Madeline's smirk on him before he looked down at her. She said, "So, do they know that you're running for mayor? Or are you waiting for campaign season to make it official?"

"No, see, you're going in the wrong direction. That sounds a lot like _more_ headaches and responsibility."

Her smirk widened in response, and she focused back on keeping up with him as they pressed onward.

Eventually, they stopped at the very back of a long line and Harvey commented, "Looks like we hit rush hour." He squinted forward, trying to read the sign. "What's the name of this one anyway?"

Madeline answered, "Don't ask me. I don't have my glasses."

"They oughtta call it 'Wait In Line Doughnuts.'"

She went suddenly silent. At first, Harvey shrugged it off as the joke hadn't been _that_ funny, but then he watched her whole body tense. She shrunk back ever so slightly.

He blinked. "What-"

"Uh...Ten thirty three."

He went on alert and his hand instinctively fell just a hair off the small of her back. "Where is he?"

"My two 'o clock."

Harvey searched through the throngs of people until his eyes locked onto a tall, heavy-set African American male who stared straight back at them. He took her by the arm and steered her into a hard left. "C'mon. I'll get you outta here."

Harvey glanced behind them to see the thug falling into a jog, pushing through the horde of people toward them. He had just enough time to think, _Christ, is he -really- that stupid?_ before the man called out in a deep voice, "Hey! Dr. Scott! Wait up!"

Harvey suddenly stumbled backward as she threw on her brakes in response, anchoring them in place. He made a short noise of frustration in his throat as he had no choice but to stand by and wait for whatever happened next.

The ex-con bounded over to them, looking much younger the closer he got. Beside him, a lanky preteen with wide brown eyes hurried at his side.

Madeline whispered to Harvey, "We're okay. It's all right."

She must have seen the kid and immediately assumed that meant there wouldn't be any trouble, even though Harvey knew that didn't mean jack-shit. He did a quick risk assessment, scanning the guy up and down, looking for the bulge of a weapon. He didn't see one, but that didn't mean he wasn't packing heat in the small of his back. As he neared, the ex-con's face softened, and he walked toward them easily, his hands uncurled at his sides. And okay... fair enough. In a crowd of people, that did mean something.

As the guy stepped up to them, Harvey felt his chest tighten. Holy moly. The ex-con towered a foot or more above Madeline. Not to mention, he had about fifty pounds on Harvey, which meant left to his own devices he could break her in half with one hand and mix a martini in the other.

Thankfully, his friendly voice contrasted Harvey's last thought. "Hey, doc."

She returned the greeting. "Hey, yourself." Harvey watched Madeline's reaction, which was a remarkable polar opposite to his own. The tension in her shoulders released. Then she pointed to the kid at his side. "Who's this young man? Is this your-"

"Yeah, this is Trent."

When she looked to Trent, her smile became more natural. "Aw, your nephew. It's nice to meet you."

His nephew mumbled just above a whisper, "You too."

The man dug out his wallet. "Hey, Trent, uh…" He shelled out a five and a couple ones. "Why don't you get us a couple Cokes, okay?"

Trent accepted the money and obediently headed off towards the nearest drink kiosk. As Harvey stood beside Madeline, he became aware that his own hands had tightened into fists. He stretched out his fingers and made his hands relax, deciding that for the moment neither of them were in physical danger.

Madeline glanced up at Harvey and then back at …

Christ, Harvey knew the guy's name. It was on the tip of his tongue. In his criminal heyday, the dude divided his time up pretty evenly between breaking and entering and beating the piss out of shlubs way behind on their monthly mob dues. Harvey hadn't made the arrest, hadn't been his department's job. But this guy belonged to one of the gangs about town. Which one was it…? Harvey started to roll down the list in his mind, one by one.

The ex-con took a step backward, looking at Madeline like maybe he'd intruded. "I didn't mean to bother you. I can, uh, catch up with you later. If this ain't a good time."

She waved the comment away. "No, it's fine. It's … I'm happy to see you." She cleared her throat, breaking the awkward pause that followed. "If you'd like to speak in private…"

The guy looked over and met Harvey's hard-eyed and humorless stare. Harvey watched him read the situation right. "Naw, it's all good. We can talk here."

Madeline's eyes followed after Trent. "He looks so much like you."

_Blackgaters… Bloods…_

He frowned deeply. "Yeah. He moved in with me, couple weeks back."

She sent him a questioning glance, and then her shoulders fell in sad understanding. "Aw, Del. I'm really sorry."

Del nodded, accepting the condolences. Then he picked back up. "Actually, I was, uh, hopin' I might run into you." He dropped his voice an octave. "I wanted to apologize. I said some pretty messed up stuff in there. I'm sorry."

Harvey more sensed than saw the shock that rocked through Madeline. Her mouth worked before she said, "Apology accepted."

_Deacons… Sprang Bridge Soldiers… Lo Boyz…_

He added, "And I wanted to thank you. For gettin' me outta there."

She shook her head in serious disagreement. "You got yourself out of there."

Del seemed to ignore the statement. "I never woulda gotten the time with her."

She suddenly spoke in that hard voice of authority Harvey only ever heard her use at the prison. "Everything you accomplished came from sources within yourself." When he went to talk again, she interrupted him. "And you know I'm right, so stop arguing with me."

He clicked his lips. "Still bustin' my chops."

"Yes, well, I don't come equipped with an off button."

They shared a glance then, looking like two people who were reliving some memories. It made Harvey's head spin, watching the shift from life-threatening emergency to delightful reunion take place.

Madeline looked across the way at Trent before asking in a gentler voice, "So… is this a life that you want? A life you've chosen for yourself?"

He met her soft gaze. "Yeah," he said decisively. "Yeah, it is."

"Then that's all that matters." She smiled slightly and then with her whole face. "I'm really proud of you, Del."

Del nodded at what she said. Then he snapped his fingers and clapped his hands together in one motion as he began to back away. "Take it easy, doc. I'll see you around."

_Blue Flu Gang… Free Man Gang…_

"Take care of yourself." Madeline threw a soft punch into the air. "And go, Knights."

He headed back towards his nephew. "Go, Knights."

Suddenly, Harvey's brain found a tiny hand-hold in his head and it catapulted him into a stream of coherency. Free Man Gang. Knots. But his real name was … Del, like Madeline said. Del Monte Jackson. Low on the totem pole. Harvey had been at the GCPD less than six months when Knots got busted on a robbery charge.

Madeline watched Del and his nephew disappear into the moving sea of Knights fans. "Sorry. False alarm."

Harvey scratched his cheek, which was sandpapery with stubble. "... You have any idea who you were just talkin' to?"

She spoke with complete professionalism. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I have ever-"

"You're serious right now? C'mon, I just heard every freakin' word you…"

He trailed off as Madeline stared up and away. Her eyes shone, and she rubbed the heel of her hand underneath her right eye.

He shook his head in stark disbelief as he watched her cry tears over Knots, the kid gang-banger from back in the day.

Madeline said by way of explanation, "Sometimes my feelings about these things are just … complicated."

Complicated. If he'd had a gold star, he would have pinned it on her. She'd coined the word of the day.

Suddenly, Johnson broke through the crowd of people. He plodded up to them and started in talking like he liked to do. "I tried to get Lombard's attention when he walked back to the lockers, but I dunno. I don't think this fight is gonna happen. It's damn shame, too. I bet we would have made the news." He looked at Madeline. "I thought you were gonna get a cronut."

She said automatically, "I was. Harv's manliness distracted me."

Johnson made a retching noise. "If I vomit right now, will that make you stop?"

"I don't care if you throw up. Just so long as it's not on my carpet." She turned her attention to Harvey as she backed away toward the food court. "I've definitely earned a cronut. And before you ask, yes, you have, too."

He called after her, "I'll be right there."

Johnson waited until she was out of earshot to say, "Did your man Lyle show?"

"Yeah," Harvey said, looking around at the crowds. "Must be half-price tickets for repeat offenders today."

"What'd he have to say?"

"He's on the case. He'll give us a shout as soon as he lays eyes on him."

Johnson squinted at him. "You think that's gonna get us any closer to nailing this bastard?"

Harvey breathed out a hard sigh. "I don't know, kid. But I'm workin' on it." They both ambled forward after Madeline and he repeated even more softly, "I'm workin' on it…"


	24. Smooth Criminal

(x)

6 Years Prior

Detective Harvey Bullock spoke into the receiver of his cell phone while his other hand gripped the steering wheel. "You're sure it's him? … Twelfth and Park Avenue. Got it. You're a fucking wizard. My next paycheck's got your name on it."

When Harvey put down his phone, Johnson said, "Your man found him?"

He pulled a sudden U-Turn in the middle of the empty street and flicked on the red and blue flashers without the howler. "Lyle put eyes on our guy. He's holed up in the Waldorf Hotel by the marina."

His partner sat up straighter in his seat as the car picked up speed. "Let's say he still happens to be there when we show up. What're we even arresting this dude on anyway?"

"Laying waste wherever he sees fit and raining down general mass murder and mayhem. And before you ask, no. Those aren't actual charges."

"Uh-huh. ...Well, that's good. But we've still got this little problem. I mean, it's not a big deal or anything." Johnson cleared his throat. "We just don't have any, you know, proof."

"Get me ten minutes alone in a room with this sleazeball. I'll get you proof."

Within minutes, Harvey parked the cruiser in front of the opulent, glass doors of the Waldorf Hotel. He and Johnson bulled through the lobby, flashed their badges, and headed straight for the entrance of the hotel restaurant. They were about to charge through the doorway, when a man and woman wielding high-powered assault rifles suddenly jutted in front of them.

Harvey and Johnson reacted swiftly, pulling out their guns and leveling them forward. Harvey bellowed, "GCPD! Drop your weapons!"

Before the words fully left his mouth, he heard footsteps creep up behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed what he already suspected. Two more men bore down upon them, large and armed. They didn't say anything. They didn't have to.

Harvey and Johnson shared a single wide-eyed glance, and they simultaneously put their guns down.

Johnson muttered, "...Think they saw us comin'?"

Harvey wore a look of raw aggravation in answer.

The woman centered her shotgun on them while the goons from behind relieved Harvey and Johnson of their firearms. As he stood there weaponless and held at gunpoint, Harvey sized up the two thugs blocking the doorway.

The first heavy was your basic nickel and dime wise guy. With his slicked back hair and fleshy features he could have served as one of the bodyguards for a Bond villain. Harvey stared into the face of his counterpart. The face belonged to a conventionally attractive woman in her mid-thirties, who wore her dark hair pulled back in a long ponytail. With the right outfit, she'd be a dead ringer for Xena: Warrior Princess. Everything read severe, from the top of her head to the balls of her heels.

Once Xena seemed satisfied that he and Johnson no longer posed a threat, she said in an almost civil tone of voice, "Mr. Codmolov will see you now."

The crew led them through the restaurant, which was completely empty of customers save for one patron. A well-dressed man sat at a simple, elegant cherry wood table, talking on his cell phone that he cradled between his neck and shoulder. At the same time, he typed furiously on a sleek, thin laptop. His table was positioned directly in front of a tall and wide window that provided a stunning view of the marina.

Dimitri Codmolov glanced up from his phone call, and a pasted smile spread across his face. "Uh-huh, yes," he said into his cell phone. He grandly motioned for Harvey and Johnson to take the seats across from him.

As if to further his point, Xena firmly poked Harvey in the side with her rifle, causing him to settle into the seat next to Johnson. He sent her an annoyed stare. _Congratulations. You've got a gun that can shoot me. We've all got it._

As Harvey sat down, he unbuttoned his jacket out of pure habit to clear up access to his piece, you know, the one that wasn't there any more.

Dimitri continued to speak to the person on the other end of the line. "Yes, that sounds fine." He put up a finger and sent them a look of flustered bemusement, the type a person might give when they can't get grandma off the phone.

Harvey removed his hat and gave the man across from him a quick and dirty once-over. Dimitri wore a neatly pressed grey suit along with platinum cuff-links and a watch that he bet cost only a little less than some of the boats parked in the water outside. The face he showed Harvey held exactly none of the cold severity he saw in Dimitri's eyes in the only photograph they had of him.

From where they sat, Harvey peered out the window onto the marina. It was a busy for a weekday. There were people milling about and sailboats out on the water. Dimitri positioned himself in front of the largest window, where anyone could see inside. Most of the criminal masterminds of Gotham worked in the dark recesses, hiding their criminal activity in the shadows. This man kept his business above ground. In the light. As if he were proud of it.

Still on the phone, Dimitri said, "Yes. Okay. We'll be in touch." He ended the call and expelled a hefty sigh of exasperation. When he met Harvey's stare, he played up his smile. "Detective Bullock. You'll have to forgive me. I've had only minutes to prepare for your arrival."

Harvey frowned. "Looks like you work well on your feet."

An impressed light appeared in his eyes. "That is a trait we share. I must admit throughout this, uh, process I've underestimated you. Your extensive network of confidential informants stretches far beyond what I originally believed possible."

"What can I say," Harvey replied. "I'm a people person."

"Well, it is a mistake that won't be made again. If there's one truth I've found in this business, it's that you must be able to own up to your flaws, take feedback, and evolve." When Harvey didn't reply, Dimitri sat back, looking him over. "It's good," he said decisively. "Finally meeting you face to face."

"Yeah, I was beginning to think you only ever let the Post Office and your long guns do your talking for you."

Dimitri moved his laptop aside. "Ah, you mean the letters. And the, uh… drive-by, is that the term for it?" He pulled on his sleeves to neaten up his suit. "When it's your first day, you have to do what's already been done before you can improve upon it. Really, it's all new to me. I'm like a child at a formal dinner."

"Aw, shucks, Dimitri. You're bein' modest. I mean, you figured out where the money is in this town. Who's making it, how to effectively fuck with the flow of it." He glanced around. "That and you seem to have this whole heavy artillery element sewn up tighter than a duck's ass."

That seemed to remind him of something. He turned to Xena. "Have their weapons been put aside for safekeeping?"

"Yes, sir," she said in a hard voice.

Dimitri nodded. "I see… It would only be polite for me to do the same." Harvey's eyebrows went up as Dimitri drew out a Desert Eagle from inside his suit jacket and set it down on the table. Directly after, he reached into a sheath on his side and took out a knife with a long trailing point blade. He held out the knife for Harvey to see. "It's… not really my style, but my lieutenant here, Alya, says to always have a backup plan." Dimitri handed both weapons to the woman who was named Alya and not Xena. "She tells me the blade is old but reliable. I have no idea when it was actually made. 1800s, 1900s? I mean, really, what's the difference?"

Harvey smiled back dangerously. "Just about a hundred years, you know, give or take."

Dimitri broke out into what sounded like genuine laughter. He pointed at Harvey. "You are full of vim and vigor. I knew I'd like you."

"Oh, I'm just a barrel of fun once you get to know me."

"See, that's why I took advantage of this opportunity. To seize the chance to connect on a more personal level."

Harvey eyed the man with a mixture of anger and disbelief. The more the guy talked, the more he reminded him of some medical doctors who hailed from Eastern countries. They used the English language correctly, but they had exactly none of the mannerisms or facial expressions that matched the words. The type who could say things like 'you have late stage pancreatic cancer' with a pleasant, bland look on their face.

Dimitri smiled again but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "So shall we get started?"

Harvey decided it was time to bring out a hammer to this thumb war. "Get started with us arresting you and booking you down at the precinct? I'm game for that."

"No, no. I have no room in my schedule for that sort of engagement," he said, as if politely declining an invitation. "It might take an hour or two for your Captain to realize I'm in custody and release me, and then … well, we'll be right back to where we are now."

Harvey ignored his glib reimagining of what was actually happening and kept them on point. "You've killed thirty-nine civilians over the past six months."

"Yes," he agreed. "And on our end, we've lost significant financial gains and many good earners due to your …" He blinked several times before he found the right words. "Fevered preoccupation with our business."

He didn't acknowledge the statement. "You murder that many blue collar working class hero types, making seven bucks an hour without bathroom breaks? You lose the right to walk the streets."

Dimitri rested his left hand against his chest and leaned forward just slightly. "On behalf of my organization, I am truly sorry for the casualties that have taken place. The transition has not been as smooth as I had hoped." He shook his head before addressing Harvey once more. "But generally, the transitional period is volatile until protocol is understood. I'm confident that soon a streamlined system will be in place."

Beside him, Johnson must have had enough. He raised his voice, "All right, look, asshole. This isn't a board meeting. You can't just-"

"There will be no further need for you to speak at this time," Dimitri said, patiently as if talking to a child. "You are an extension of Detective Bullock. If I reach an understanding with him, logic follows that I will have an understanding with you."

Johnson huffed out a noise of impatience, but Harvey held out a calming hand to his partner. He didn't like backing up Dimitri's 'Pipe down, junior. Let the grown-ups talk.', but he didn't need the kid making himself any more of a target than he already was. Harvey nodded to Dimitri. "That your end game? For you and me to have some kind of 'understanding'?"

He let out a small laugh. "Forgive me, detective. I'm … I'm just not sure how I am coming across to you. Do you believe that I spend all day plotting in an underground lair, twisting my mustache? Hatching a plan?"

"Nah, you're less like Dr. Claw and more like Hans Gruber on an off day."

He didn't seem to get the references. "I am simply an entrepreneur whose business needs clearer rules and tougher oversight. For this, I'll need your help."

If Harvey had been wearing glasses, he would have been looking over top of them. "My help?"

"Yes, you're a native of this city, and given your years at the GCPD you could easily climb the ladder at your precinct. I believe that it would be in our collective best interest to be on the same side."

Harvey shook his head. "Let's get somethin' straight. You kill people you don't know and never had a problem with? You get taken down. That's the way it works."

"But you don't follow the rules, detective," Dimitri said meaningfully. "Why should I?"

"I hate rules and stuff just as much as the next shmoe …" Harvey mentally checked back through the statements he made. "But for once I think everything I just said was exactly by the book."

Dimitri spoke in a paternal voice. "No, the unspoken rules. The ones that truly govern this city. See, I only arrived in Gotham, oh, a little over a year ago. Completely unaware of how to conduct myself here." He lowered his voice, as if sharing a trade secret. "Then, after paying close attention, I developed a theory. Would you like to hear it?"

"No." It came out quick and certain.

"There is always a way for everyone to get what they want. It's just a matter of what you want and what they want and finding out what they want more."

Harvey began to sound bored. "Is this the part where you offer me box seats at the stadium or one of the yachts out back?"

Dimitri softened, reluctantly agreeing. "It is true that you've never seen this city in its full splendor until you've seen it from the bay."

"Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I got shit to do inland."

"Perhaps I'm not being clear." Dimitri opened up his hands. "Maybe it would help if I provided an example. You want there to be no more civilian lives lost as we reach the end of this transitional period. But what do you want more?"

Harvey's face settled into a glare at the question Dimitri posed to him.

The man saw that he had Harvey's attention. "Even for this conversation, I've found that there is protocol to follow. For a person, oh, ten or fifteen years younger than you, or a career bachelor, it's always the mother. If a person is married with a family, that answers itself. You see. The more we have, the more we have to lose."

The edge in his voice was serrated. "The world's fulla little ironies like that."

Dimitri spoke emphatically. "Yes. Like how they say romantic affairs can be fragile and yet remarkably powerful. Too often, those sorts of relationships end before they begin, but … every once in awhile, two people really have something."

From someplace deep inside, he felt hot anger spark and burn, like fire under a rock. At this not being the quick, clean arrest he thought it would be. At this new little wrinkle, which he really should have anticipated. It was a dick move, but a standard one. And Maddie'd been spending way too much time with him not to show up on this psycho's radar.

Dimitri sat back slightly, scratching the side of his head. "I hope I haven't rambled on. I'd hate to, uh, to be a bore."

"No, you've been real concise." Harvey decided to respond in kind. "So that's the title on this book. 'Do what I say or else?'"

"I'd rather not see things escalate further from here."

"I really appreciate you takin' the time to break things down for me," he said dryly. "But we both know what the real problem is here, and it's got exactly fuck all to do with buy-in and corporate loyalty and all this other happy horse shit you're spinning like a broken record."

It was clear Dimitri didn't care for his interpretation. "Detective, should you choose not to heed this warning… " In that instant, something cold and dark fell across his face. He suddenly looked exactly like the man in the photograph back at the precinct. "It would be the worst mistake."

Harvey looked up and away. "This has been real and fun. Can't remember the last time I've enjoyed a chat this highly." He put on his hat and spoke with finality. "But unless you want to call off the goon patrol and face what you got comin' like a man, we're done here." Harvey'd seen enough movies to know a good exit line when he heard one. He stood up from his seat.

Alya and the other henchmen that flanked either side of Dimitri kept their weapons aimed forward, but didn't open fire. Johnson climbed to his feet as well, despite all the assault rifles surrounding them. It looked like they were both laying odds that if Dimitri wanted to riddle them with bullets he'd have done it back when they first walked inside the hotel.

Dimitri looked … Harvey decided on the word 'disappointed'. "I'll take this to mean that our business for the day has reached its conclusion." Then he said in his best salesman's voice, "Please, let us know if you decide to reconsider our offer."

Harvey gave Dimitri one last hard look. Then he and Johnson took back their guns, and they left.

(x)

Harvey wasted no time putting the Waldorf into his rear view mirror, lest Dimitri realized it actually wasn't in his best interest to let them walk out of there on both legs still breathing. The more distance he put between himself and what transpired, the more thoughts drummed in his mind. About how the current death toll did nothing to impress that nasty little bastard. About how sweet it was that Dimitri'd been getting to know him in his downtime. And about the coming 'transition' Dimitri was working to roll out, and how Harvey would bet his bank account that it was work he loved.

It was a little concerning.

Harvey glanced out of the corner at his eye over at his partner. The kid sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a serious frown in place.

It took a good five minutes before his partner spoke. "This guy hasn't been trying to hide anything. Any one of our CIs could know where this jerk-off is at any point in time. And they'd rather we put a crease in their skull and throw them in lock-up than let us in on it."

Hot damn. Quiet and thoughtful. Maybe that little chat with Dimitri knocked something loose. Or more likely, even a broken clock was right twice a day.

Harvey kept his eyes on the road. "Everybody out there, gettin' real quiet when we bring up his name, pretending that they have no clue what we're talking about… That's startin' to sound less like brain damage and a lot more like good common sense."

"That guy wasn't fucking around."

"No, he wasn't," he remarked. "And this is exactly the type of situation that messes up anyone who touches it."

"Yeah, well. Tag. We're it."

Harvey caught the frustration in his voice, and he answered back with authority. "Now, wait a minute, just hold your horses. We got a game plan for this."

He spoke with undisguised suspicion, "We do?"

"Yeah, and it starts with us backing the hell off."

Johnson shot him a look. "...You think Codmolov's just gonna let this go? Just conveniently forget that we hunted his ass down and barged in on his lunch break?"

Harvey rolled a satiric eye to the ceiling of the car. It was a little more likely that the Arabs and the Jews would throw down their weapons and decide the holy war was just a huge misunderstanding. "Look, there's no escaping that the man's gearing up for a hostile takeover. And after all the downright creepy stuff he said back there, he's pretty much just begging me to rip his ass apart limb from limb." He spoke softly but intensely as he made his next point. "But he's got serious protection. Not to mention, he's got the people in this city too scared stiff to give us the lowdown on his criminal exploits."

His partner frowned. "So that's your solution. We just ... back the hell off. Play nice. Get with this guy's program."

Harvey almost flinched at the words Johnson elected to use. When he put on the brakes at a red light, he looked him in the eye. "That ain't what I said. There are ways of goin' after this nutcase that aren't stupid and dangerous." This got his attention, and Harvey continued, "Anybody with that kind of ego's gonna screw up. It's our job to be there when he does."

"How we gonna manage that?"

"You wanna find out where somebody's gonna go, you gotta find out where they've been. We still got a couple CIs in our back pocket, so we're gonna put that intel to work. We'll just employ a little more stealth this time around." The light turned green, and he put his foot on the gas. "Understand this. From here on out, no more of these big dumb hero showdowns. We play it cool, try not to tip him off, keep our enemies closer and all that shit."

Johnson didn't make any argument. The words Harvey shared with him seemed to resonate. For a long time, his partner sat back quietly in thought. When they parked at the precinct, Johnson said, "I think that was the shadiest mother fucker I've ever met." He grabbed the door handle, but then turned back saying, "And we've met a lot of shady mother fuckers."

Harvey stepped out of the car, certain that his partner just made the understatement of the decade.


	25. Bruised

(x)

6 Years Prior

The fluorescent tubes hummed loudly overhead. One had an annoying tick and occasionally flickered, as if about to go out. Madeline chose to believe it was happening due to a much-needed bulb change and not because of rats chewing through the wiring again. Blackgate: Yet another fabulous example of Gotham's tax dollars not at work.

Madeline's attention was diverted from the flickering light fixture by a high-pitched rhythmic squeaking noise coming from the chair across from her. Or more accurately, coming from the inmate rocking in the chair across from her. The sound echoed, like a rusty hinge on a screen door being swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Standing, Aaron Danzig towered at an impressive 6'5", which earned him the apt nickname of 'Gentle Giant' from the guards. But slouched down in the aluminum folding chair, he appeared much smaller, much more fragile. His short buzzed-cut hair was so blonde that it could have been white, and his skin was so white that it could have belonged to a mannequin. His eyes would have been bright blue, if they hadn't been missing that spark found only in intelligent life. The sad truth was that mackerels had eyes more alive and focused than Aaron's.

Madeline did what she always did to stop the rocking. She held up her pointer finger and moved it from side to side in front of Aaron's eyes. It took a few moments, but eventually, the rocking stopped and he focused his energy on following her finger back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Madeline brought down her hand, and his head slowed to a stop until he stared right back at her.

She offered him a small smile. "Did you go somewhere again, Aaron?"

He looked down in an embarrassed way, a child caught by a teacher.

She asked, "Where did you go just now?"

It took him nearly thirty seconds to answer. When he did, he said, "To the stars."

An all too common place for people diagnosed with schizophrenia. She responded in a quiet, warm voice. "Have you ever heard the phrase - We're all made of stars?"

Aaron barked a high-pitched laugh filled with pure glee. Madeline pretended as though the laugh were completely appropriate, even expected. When he settled, he fell suddenly quiet and then said, "No." He began to smack his lips in between talking. His Tardive Dyskinesia showed up in many ever-changing ways. "No, I haven't heard that."

"What it means is that everything in the universe is made of similar compounds. You might say that makes us all alike." It was a poorly constructed bridge. But anything, even a weak connection, might reestablish a necessary piece of reality. The reality that no matter what sent him to Blackgate, Aaron was still very much a member of the human race.

She asked, "Is there anyone here in this prison who reminds you of yourself?"

"No. I have a roommate. But … he's not from the stars."

Madeline replied candidly, "I think you go to the stars to get away from this prison."

Aaron regarded her mutely, until finally he said in a child-like voice. "It keeps me away from the bad people."

"The bad people?" When he added nothing more, she said, "Like the men in this prison?"

"Them," he agreed. "Them and my family."

She made herself be very still. She didn't do what she wanted to do. To gasp, to jump up, to widen her eyes. It was the first time in her entire history with Aaron that he'd even acknowledged that he had a family. She gave herself a moment and then she spoke in an innocently curious voice. "Could you tell me about your family?"

"They … They do bad things. To each other." He gazed down into the tiled floor beneath them. "To me."

She watched him cower and sink down into his memories. It was clear that he lacked the language to communicate what he was feeling, so she tried to give him the words. "When they did those bad things to you, you must have felt very sad and very alone."

Aaron's face twisted like a rag, and he began to rock just slightly. "Yes." He repeated the word over and over again in time with the rocking.

Madeline blinked and sat up straighter in her seat. "Aaron? Look at me." He didn't, couldn't. "I need you to notice something. I need you to notice that you're feeling something right now that you don't want to feel."

Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes, and he let off a nearly inaudible cry that sounded unnaturally loud in the small room.

She felt her stomach clench as she watched him descend into a helpless state of horror. It was too much too soon. So he was doing the only thing he could do. He was shutting down and making his mind disappear.

 _...Dammit_. "Aaron. I need you to take a deep breath."

His face began to turn red, from the crying, from the pure terror of whatever memories his family inflicted upon him.

She said again, more loudly, "Whatever you're seeing, hold that image in your mind and watch my finger moving back and forth." She raised her hand and made the motion in front of his eyes. "Today is August 27th. You are with me at Blackgate. You are safe in this r-"

In one lightning fast motion, Aaron seized her arm out of the air. Panic shot through her veins, and she froze, giving no resistance, as he gripped her forearm in his tight fist. He cried out, tears running down his face, as he squeezed down hard. "I was just so small," he got out between gasping breaths. "I couldn't stop it … I couldn't stop it."

Madeline's chest constricted, and she swallowed hard, fighting for calm. "It's okay to cry. When things are this sad, you're supposed to cry." She didn't move a muscle, despite the dull pulsing of the blood underneath the skin of her arm. She wanted, _needed_ to pull out of his grasp and run the hell out of there. But she reminded herself that this wasn't a man who reacted reasonably. This was a man who thought he time traveled into space and heard voices whispering underneath the bed at night. This was madness, the genuine article.

Behind her, the door slammed against the wall as it opened. She immediately threw up her free hand in the universal 'stop' signal. "It's okay," she said loudly. To Aaron, to the guard behind her, to anyone listening. "It's going to be okay."

Madeline heard the footsteps of the guard hesitate just behind her. The seconds ticked away, and slowly but surely, Aaron's breakdown reached its peak and began to wane. Until finally, he released her arm. Relief flooded her like a drug, and she yanked her arm back, tucking it against her body.

Aaron folded into himself, weeping softly. Madeline looked at him and though she knew her next decision made no logical sense, she did it anyway. She carefully took his hand in hers. Aaron briefly glanced back up in surprise. Then he gently curled his fingers around her hand and went back to rocking, even more absently than before.

As she held his hand, one clear thought broke through her mix of emotions. _No one should ever have to bear this much pain by themselves_.

After a few more moments, Madeline let go of his hand. She let out a shaky breath, and she checked behind her. To find Wilson Bishop standing just a few inches away, looking like a sprinter awaiting the crack of the starter's gun. She sent him a smile, or at least an approximation thereof, to assure him that she had the situation under control. Though he looked concerned, he waited there patiently as she turned back her client.

She said, "Aaron, I know just now you remembered a terrible event that happened a long time ago."

He kept staring down at the floor. Underneath the table, his legs were visibly shaking.

She said calmly, firmly, "Whatever happened to you all those years ago. It's not happening right now." When he glanced back up, she met his eye. "It's over."

At the words, Aaron's breathing gradually became calmer and deeper. Slowly, his body began to relax.

Though their time was up, Madeline tried one last time to connect. "What can I do to help you, Aaron? I want you to tell me. What do you need most of all?"

The silence stretched for a full minute. She inhaled sharply and started to say something, but he cut her off. "I just want someone to tell me what to do." He surprised her with his answer, and Madeline bet he could see it written all over her. Then he whispered, "I don't want to be alone."

Wilson Bishop stepped forward and helped him to his feet. Aaron shuffled forward, a man used to obeying authority. Though he couldn't have been out of his thirties, he hunched over like an old timer who had badly overestimated his capacity for exercise. When she heard their footfalls fade and the heavy industrial door bang shut behind them, she stepped out of the room in a daze. Once in the hallway, she flattened her back against the concrete wall and rested her hand on the side of her face, trying to still the buzzing in her head.

She must have stood there, feeling overcome, for some time. The next thing she heard was the deep voice of Wilson Bishop. "I got him back to his cell. He went quietly." His eyes met hers. "You okay?"

Madeline nodded. She was. She would be. She just needed a minute. After taking that minute, she said, "Thank you. For giving us a moment."

"It was smart," he said. "To hold still like that. Too often people freak out. Only ever makes it worse."

She nodded again, unable to think of a response.

Wilson seemed to stare off and consider something. "That man's was traumatized. Wasn't he?"

Madeline snapped to attention. "Yes," she said, not even bothering to hide her surprise.

"You said something about how it might look like that. When you called us all in for that briefing."

She swallowed back tears. Though the scene with Aaron gave her a long enough list of emotions to sift though, she almost cried because one of the guards there had actually listened when she explained the true motivation behind some of the inmates' behaviors. "Most of these men have been victims of violence themselves. So they give as good as they get, and they hurt or kill people in the process. So we lock them up in a cage and cut them off from society for a decade or two. Then, we're shocked when they snap and lash out at the very next brush with human contact." Air left her lungs in a hard rush, and she breathed out, "It's a fuckin' set-up from start to finish."

Wilson looked down at his feet and back up at her. "You may be right about that... But a lot of people around here aren't tryin' to hear it."

She let out a slow, controlled breath. "I'd like to strap Grey down with some duct tape and force him to hear it. And force him to give me some funding while I'm at it. Maybe then I could actually do something besides putting a band-aid on this shit."

He didn't mince words. "All the duct tape in the world won't make that happen. Him giving you funding is him agreeing to make less money. There's just no way in hell he's gonna do that."

There was no arguing with the logic. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Yeah, well, fuck him. I'll find another way," she said with quiet determination.

"If anyone can get it done... I believe it'd be you."

Another wave of exhaustion hit her. She didn't tell Wilson that he'd just said verbatim what Jack Buchinsky told her in one of their last sessions. "Okay, if I spend like one more minute in here, I'm gonna be the one in nuthouse." They both laughed a little, even though it wasn't funny. Then she said, "I'm gonna get outta here."

He went back to frowning and pointed to her forearm. "You're gonna leave here with one nasty bruise."

Madeline glanced down at her arm. Aaron's iron grip left a thin band of light purple in its wake. She sighed, aggravated. "Shit."

"Want me to get you some ice?"

A smile formed on her face when she said, "No, I think you've done enough for me today. I guess this makes us even, huh?"

"Not even close." He rested his hands on his hips. "I'll write up the incident report on this one. Aside from that, I figure whatever happened in there is nobody's business but yours and Aaron's."

She said, "Thanks, Wilson."

He tipped his hat as he walked away.

Madeline took another moment to rest her back against the wall. She thought about how the nastiest violence is inflicted by people who are supposed to love you. She thought about how humans thirst for touch like they do for water. She wondered how Aaron made it through his days at Blackgate as a living, breathing ball of confusion and chaos.

Then she wondered how long it would take Harvey to notice the bruise, and she wondered what she would say to him when he did.


	26. This Is Why We Fight

(x)

6 Years Prior

Harvey's inside voice went through varying decibels throughout the days and weeks. Today it was screaming.

As he huffed it up the stairs to Madeline's apartment, he thought back to his day at the precinct. The station was always a zoo, but it had been especially wild that afternoon. Looking around the chaos of the GCPD, he came upon the idea - and not for the first time - that there was no one running that railroad. His insides felt coiled up like piano wire, and he doubted relief would rise up to meet him any time soon.

He paused at the top of the third floor, her floor, feeling winded. When he reached the door of her apartment… he found it hanging ajar.

Harvey heard a loud BANG sound from inside. The sound of something hard and heavy dropping onto the ground with blunt force, followed by a short, soft yelp.

He had his gun out and inched up against the door before he'd even registered he'd done it. He peeked around the corner, saw no one, and moved soundlessly through the doorway with a quickness bred from practice. The kitchen light was on, and he heard muffled movement. Someone turned on the water at the sink.

Harvey burst from around the corner, gun drawn.

Madeline screamed and ducked down. "Harvey!"

He instantly brought down his gun and nearly keeled over in relief.

She stood back up, her eyes capital O's of shock. "What … the hell are you doing?!"

He holstered his gun and pointed angrily back at the way he came. "What the hell are you doing with the door wide open?!"

He noticed now that Madeline held a handful of paper towels around her right hand. She turned off the faucet. "I just carried a bunch of groceries and a twelve pack up the stairs, and when I dropped it down, I cut my finger on the cardboard."

"And before that you didn't think to close the door behind you?"

She frowned at him. "I -just- stepped inside. I'd been in here for exactly thirty seconds before you came around the corner…and pointed your gun at me!"

Frustration throbbed dully in his ears. "I swear to God, Maddie, you're just asking for someone to run in here-"

"Run in here and what? What next? I shouldn't have been out so late? My skirt's too short?"

It was not open mike night at the feminist coffee bar last he checked. Harvey moved his hands from left to right as he spoke. "You reach up. You lock the door. It ain't rocket science."

She rolled her eyes in an incredulous way that made him see red. "Could you stop talking like my father or worse my grandfather, please?"

He boomed. "I'm the third generation of men trying to get this point across?!"

She held the paper towels hard around her fingers and looked at him carefully. "This is not about a door and whether it's locked or not."

 _Oh, Christ. Here she goes again_. "Maddie. I can't do this right now."

"This is about you pulling a GUN on me."

"This is what my job is."

"That's bullshit," she fired back.

His voice hardened. "We've been over this."

"Yeah, and you were full of crap then too. But I let you get away it. Not this time."

He hesitated before he repeated her words. "... Let me get away with...? What the hell … are you even talking about?"

Her shoulders slumped down at his answer. She all but ordered him, "Just tell me how bad it is."

Harvey sent her a bewildered look, and then his face fell. He sighed out loudly as he realized exactly what she meant.

She kept going. "Do I need to be in protective custody?"

His head pounded. Every night she was with him she was in protective custody. What about that did she not get?

She said a little more softly. "Do I need to leave town?"

He made himself stay even. "It ain't like that."

And she went the other way. She brayed at him, "Then what is it like?! Tell me. Right now."

Harvey reared up and bit back. "It's like you just need to learn to shut and lock the goddamn door."

Madeline shot him a look of pure indignation, right before she pushed past him, hard.

He called after her. "Hey, just … stop. You're bleedin' all over the place. Let me take a look." He gently took her arm, and to his surprise, she let him. He pulled away the paper towels, and when he looked over the small, superficial cut, he noticed something else.

Harvey stared down at a thick, dark bruise that dug across her forearm. Then he looked back up at her. "How'd you get that?"

She cut her eyes away from him. He knew that look. She made the mistake of being too predictable. "It's not what you think-"

"Quit lyin' to me."

Madeline twisted her arm out of his hand, and her face settled into a lingering glare. "Don't you dare talk to me in that voice, Harvey Bullock."

Great. They'd entered the 'Harvey Bullock' zone. He shook his head. "Stop changin' the subject-"

"This is not an interrogation room. I'm not here to sign a confession."

His eyebrows rose. "So what? I'm supposed to believe you got that some place else and not inside that nuthatch?"

When Madeline fell quiet, he didn't stop himself from looking at her with full and absolute certainty. So she might cut the shit and play it straight.

Her voice was raw. "Maybe I wouldn't hide things from you if you didn't act like this."

"Like what?" he dared her.

Her face took on a cold, reproachful look. She screwed up her mouth, rose up … and froze in place. All of a sudden in quick, deliberate movements, she turned and went for the door.

(x)

Madeline's jaw clenched tight and her temples pulsed. White hot fury all but radiated off of her and made it hard for her to even see straight. She'd barely, _just barely_ , gotten a hold of herself before it was too late.

When Harvey touched her arm again, she rounded on him. "Look, I need to leave."

"You live here," he spelled out for her, as if she didn't know.

"I'm not leaving…" _Like your father_. She grabbed up her keys. "I'm taking a break. I need twenty minutes."

"Your hand-"

"It can wait." She emphasized each word. "I will be back."

When Madeline closed the door, she heard him loudly turn the snick of the lock behind her and frustration built up in her throat. She clamped her teeth against it, because it wouldn't come out as a growl. It would be a war cry.

She stomped down the stairs, still feeling her face flush with anger. When she reached the back metal door, she threw it open so hard that the slam echoed against the brick wall in a fitful, gratifying way. Out of habit, she double-checked her pocket for her keys and then let the door bang shut behind her.

Madeline pressed her back against the cool brick wall of her apartment building. She closed her eyes and tried to quiet the storm raging beneath her exterior.

She wanted to punch something. She wanted to let off a fireball scream. She wanted a goddamn cigarette already.

 _And underneath that_?

She screwed up her face and mentally spouted off at her inner therapist. Who the fuck asked you? Could you give it a fucking rest already?

_That sounds like what Harvey probably wanted to say. And no wonder he wants to say it. After all the shit you threw at him._

She didn't open her eyes because if she did she was afraid she might go dizzy from the spinning of her thoughts.

Madeline made herself breathe, even though it was pointless, even though it was stupid, even though she didn't want to breathe; she just wanted a cigarette. Inhale, exhale, fucking repeat. A strong, welcome breeze came up from somewhere, brushing back her hair, cooling her face.

She was equal parts relieved and aggravated to find the breathing technique worked. Her mind began to settle, and she leaned back as exhaustion pushed her up harder against the brick wall.

As her anger started to recede, it made way for a suffocating wave of embarrassment. ...Why couldn't you just close the door?

Madeline brought up her knee and kicked the heel of her sneaker against the wall. The action brought her closer to something else. When Harvey shot out from behind her living room wall, gun loaded, she felt her heart stop. She'd never been so absolutely terrified.

What the fuck was going on over there at that station? What kind of mess had he gotten himself into anyway?

If she had to hazard an educated guess, she'd say the short answer to both those questions would be 'nothing good'. Or more likely 'nothing out of his ordinary'. She frowned as she wondered just how often Harvey had to deal with situations that started out like the one upstairs and went a different way. Then she shook those thoughts away and tried to get to what might actually help her, to get to what was honest.

I scared him shitless today.

I know he deals with dangerous criminals who no doubt regularly threaten him, me, and whoever else is in his life. Yet another delightful job perk we share.

Then, finally...

He's not the enemy here.

Madeline checked in with herself. Though she felt drained from the experience, she no longer wanted to punch a hole in her drywall upstairs or scream horrible things at him.

_You've made excellent progress during this session._

She imagined what her progress note might look like. 'Therapist reports talking to herself in the second person when upset.' As she headed back upstairs, she rebelliously muttered back to her inner therapist, "And I just want a cigarette already."

(x)

Harvey cursed under his breath as he noisily rooted through the medicine cabinet in her bathroom. Every freaking time, like clockwork. She came out with her claws, ripping into him to her little heart's content. Then just as he was certain she couldn't get him any more worked up than he already was, she turned heel and walked out. Leaving him to stew and taking her sweet ass time getting back while she was at it.

Muttering to himself, Harvey grabbed up a couple cotton balls, a colorful box of band-aids, and a half-empty bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He slammed the cabinet door shut and carried the items out with him to her coffee table. Then he plunked down onto the couch in her living room to wait.

All that waiting amplified everything until he was unable to get the bruise out of his mind's eye. It provided a swift, obnoxious reminder. Of how every workday she walked into that cage with those animals - plenty of them ones -he- put away. And maybe they got a good look at her and couldn't help but dream up a little payback. It reminded him of how much power he _didn't_ have to stop any of it. It drove him absolutely bugfuck.

Right. Because he didn't have enough grisly little visions to fill his nights with the current rate of shit going down.

See, this. Right here. This was why her twenty-minute commercial break didn't fly. It threw open doors he kept shut and for good reason.

He looked up as the door clicked open, as if in direct response to his thought, and he saw Madeline walking back into her apartment. She met his stare straight on, her face impassive. Then she closed the door, reached up, and locked it.

Harvey released a pent-up, flustered breath of relief.

Madeline glanced at the box of band-aids on the coffee table. When her gaze moved back to him, she offered up a tired smile. Then she slowly crossed the room and sat down next to him. He gently took her hand and got to work, dutifully cleaning up her cut.

After a few moments, she said, "I'm sorry. That I scared you."

He finished wrapping the band-aid around her finger. "You don't scare me."

It clearly took real effort on her part to say her next piece. "I should have closed the door. It was careless and I know that."

Harvey felt the knot in his stomach uncoil a little at her frank admission. "I heard you slam down the beer. Then I heard that noise you made when the box got your finger. I reacted."

She hesitated before she said, "I know you think you're hiding your stress from me and dealing with it in your own way. But you're not."

That reminded him. He pointed down to the bruise on her arm. "Right. 'Cause you ain't got nothin' to hide."

She graced him with that condescending stare of hers. "I didn't tell you because it's obvious.." She threw up her hand, motioning toward the kitchen. "That you're under enough stress already."

"And seeing you hide shit from me? That's not stressful?"

"I didn't tell you about it for exactly this reason," she said, her voice hardening once more. "Because you'd think that I don't have things under control-"

"You don't have things under control," he said plainly. "Nobody has things under control in that psycho bin."

She shot back, "Oh and your job does?"

Harvey refused to be taken off task. "Do you know what it does to me?" He pointed to his temple. "What I get up to in my head when I see one of those wackos got their hands on you?"

At that, emotion washed over her face. "Yes. Because I do it, too."

He squinted and then frowned. "... What are you talkin' about?"

Madeline's eyes widened. Apparently, she was shocked by the question. "When I think of the bullets that miss you?" Her voice intensified. "And all the ones that don't? When I've gotta crack jokes while you sit there with fresh blood on your shirt up in your Captain's office?"

Harvey relented just slightly. All right. So he wasn't the only one worrying. But she needed to understand something. "That's different."

"No," she said clearly and firmly. "No, it is exactly the same."

Harvey let loose a long exhale. "Look. I signed my name on the dotted line. I said, 'If I catch a bullet, it's on me.' I'm givin' them the green light." He pointed at her. "You're not."

"You think I don't know what I'm singing up for every day when I walk through those doors?"

Harvey shook his head. "That's my point. Those type of risks don't belong in your job description."

She stared off. "You may be right about that, but they're there all the same. I mean, there are days I don't even want to go into that place... I know I stick out like a neon road sign over there because I actually give a shit. But I can build something in that prison. Something they could stop just about anyone else from building except me." She crossed her arms and muttered. "If only because I'm the biggest fucking pain in the ass they'll ever meet."

He watched her as she talked, and he had thoughts he'd had before. What she said only further demonstrated how though that brash little mouth hers told everyone otherwise, really she was too softhearted for her own good. Harvey had learned a long time ago that you just couldn't make criminals behave. Going in and being human with those types was just about the worst way you could play it.

… And the fact that she forewent that and did her job anyway meant that she was an actual good person who wanted to help people. People who didn't deserve an ounce of the energy she gave them but she did it anyway. Fuck if he knew why, but she did. He'd never be as good as she was… Which didn't bother him. He'd made peace with that a long way back. It wasn't in the cards. But she made him want to try to be halfway decent at least.

Once he rolled through his thoughts, he was glad he didn't blurt them all out like a total putz. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her waist and allowed sarcasm to carry him through. "Least there's one thing we can agree on."

She said, "I know your job's dangerous. But I know you're building something there, too."

Harvey made a face. "Slow down, half pint. You wanna get some height climbin' up on that high horse? That's all you. I ain't tryin' to be up there."

"Yeah, well, here's a little newsflash. You're up there by default." Her dark eyes had a way of making him look back. She did that thing where she tried to go all mind reader on him. "I know you're caught up in something serious. And all that really means ...is that you're actually doing your job. And it's probably pissing people off because you're good at it and you won't -stop- doing it."

Harvey had to look away. He could argue it all day long, but she hit pretty damn close to the mark. That was the way it went with this broad. Totally naive in one moment and all but psychic in the next.

She furthered her point. "People don't shoot at you on street corners or get you so amped up that you wave your gun around in here, unless it's that serious."

He expelled a long sigh. Over the past months, some part of him had been wondering how much she knew or guessed. Now that she laid it out for him, it was time to close the books on this thing. "You really think you want to know about that?" He looked her in the eye. "About all the scumbags out in the street that come through my precinct and get locked up in your prison? All the messed up shit that goes through their minds when they see you walk through this city? Because I do. And trust me, I wish I didn't."

Her eyes filled with concern. "...You really believe that's what most people in this city are thinking?" His face must have answered the question in the affirmative. She shook her head, clearly disagreeing. Then she held his hand tight in hers. "How do you look into that ugliness every day and then come home to me and pretend you don't know it?"

Harvey brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. He said the first part out loud. "I make it work. 'Cause I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I really like you." He kept the second part to himself. _And I'd never forgive myself if you wound up dead, you know what I mean?_

She favored him with a look of distracted affection. "Yes, well. If you hadn't noticed, I've grown quite fond of you, too."

His smile mirrored hers. It was an offering, a way out of their argument, and he knew that. Not to mention that she demonstrated looking so kissable in that moment that he felt compelled to take advantage of it. Harvey's hand wound through her hair and wrapped around the back of her neck. And it looked like they both had the same idea. She took his collar in her hands and yanked him to her, kissing him soft and easy.

When she broke the kiss, she kept her grip on his collar. "But listen. Here's the thing. You gotta trust me."

"All right. I get you. But here's my thing." He leveled with her. "I can take a whole hell of a lot, but I can't take you doubting me. When you need to know something, you'll know it. You gotta trust me, too."

She gently released his collar. "Okay."

He ran his hand over the top of her head down over her hair. "That and quit leavin' your door unlocked." He added, standing up, "Gives me ulcers."

Madeline made a show of rolling her eyes. "Fine. I'll remember to lock the goddamn door."

He hissed out. "That's more like it." He walked back toward the kitchen and pulled open the box of beer.

She fell backwards softly into the couch, the picture of exhaustion. "Watch out," she said. "That box is a total jerk."

"Lucky for you, even cardboard boxes know better than to get between me and a drink." He stacked the beers in the fridge. "The downside is I won't get to wear a cool Ninja Turtle band-aid like you."

Madeline picked up the box from the coffee table and set it aside. "They glow in the dark."

He brought back over two cans. "So are we done talking about all this feeling stuff?"

She accepted the can. "All this feeling stuff," she recited back, "is real and raw and doesn't like to be pushed to one side." It earned her a muttering sigh from him. "You want to be with somebody who's going to ignore that you better find yourself a different girl, fella."

"All right. All right. Just drink your calm down juice."

She popped the tab on the beer can. "That's not a bad strategy," she said thoughtfully. "If you get me drunk maybe I'll settle down."

"Uh-huh." He took a long swig. "'Cause that's how that works."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It was one time."

He sat down hard on the couch next to her. "Miss I have issues and they need tissues."

"It's way more fun to rhyme after you've had a couple." She picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

Harvey settled in next to her. "What's on the idiot box?"

"Project Runway," she answered. "I keep waiting for the day Tim Gunn's finally gonna lose his shit after a decade of dealing with all those divas."

It beat the hell out of watching another one of her cop shows. He couldn't take one more night of dramatic music and plot devices that made her say ridiculous things to him, like 'do I need to leave town?'

But that wouldn't stop him from trolling her purely on principle. "I'm guessin' this my punishment? Cruel and unusual, doc."

She scooted closer to him and rested her legs across his lap. "Hey, you're the one who said you 'make it work'."

Harvey pulled her legs closer to him. "Fine," he said. "But you're gonna owe me."

Madeline did a fair job of guessing who would survive elimination. Harvey did a fair job of imitating Tim Gunn ("Can I be honest here?") and Michael Kors ("It's like a giraffe and sadness both made a dress before they died.") And he got to roll his eyes and drink his beer, when really he loved every second.


	27. Ride or Die

6 Years Prior

One night, ten days or so after the door-ajar-guns-ablaze-cat-fight, Harvey used his 'ya-owe-me' to get Madeline to go with him to a shmancy bar uptown. She no doubt would have gone anyway, but he wanted to clinch that she'd be there. Johnson finally wore him down, and Harvey agreed to a double-date night with him and his bird. He and Tiffany were back on. Apparently. Also it was the last night, he wagered until sometime next year, that the temperature would break eighty degrees. He wanted to see her in something that showed off some skin.

Madeline didn't disappoint. She had a way of putting her body on display that didn't feel entirely vulgar. Maybe it was the way her dress cut short to showcase her legs, but how the tight top only hinted at cleavage, leaving just enough to the imagination. Maybe sometimes he liked a tease. Or maybe, as usual, she just knew which buttons to push when.

Harvey moved his gaze away from her and cleared his throat as they stood at the packed bar, because he had to start thinking about anything else. He stared up into the high ceiling and deeply religious stained-glass windows that loomed above him. The place had at one point been some kind of Lutheran church, but it'd gotten bought out by proprietors with the opposite agenda in mind. The only thing getting worshiped tonight was alcohol, thanks to the high costs of maintaining historic buildings, a steady decline in religion, and Gotham's popular past-time of binge-drinking.

Madeline easily caught the attention of the bartender, and Harvey nodded to the guy. "Hey, brother. Can I get one of your lager craft beers and one Merlot? Thanks."

Directly after, Madeline's eyebrows went up as she nodded toward the doorway. Harvey turned around to see Johnson weaving through the crowd toward them. He held the hand of an African-American girl who was a good two or three inches taller than he was and looked like she probably played basketball in high school. She had dark skin, midnight-black hair that fell over her shoulders, and big brown eyes, the kind that hook you and pull you in like a fishing reel. He gave the kid a mental golf-clap. Way to go, boy wonder.

They made their introductions and Harvey offered up his seat to Tiffany, which she accepted.

Johnson asked them, "What're you two drinkin'?"

If Harvey had known this would be the first time in their history that Johnson would offer to pay, he would have held off. He pointed over to the bartender. "Here they come now. Better grab him while he's over here."

When the bartender delivered his and Madeline's drinks, Johnson leaned in. "I'd like a Miller Lite and a Shirley Temple with no ice, six cherries, and with diet sprite instead of ginger ale. Thanks."

Madeline smoothly kept conversation going after that. She said to Tiffany, "So, Johnson tells me that you work as a hostess."

"Yeah," Tiffany said in a bored voice. "But I'm only working there until I finish my Pre-Law degree."

She gave a low whistle. "Tough major."

Johnson nodded to Tiffany. "Yup. She's the brains of the operation."

Harvey sent a look to Madeline. _One of 'em needs to be._

She sent him a playful look right back. _Stop it._

A smart-aleck smirk. _-You- stop it._

Once all four of them had their drinks, she asked Tiffany. "What made you want to go into law?"

"The money," she said simply. "You can make six-figures if you get the right job after you pass the bar."

Johnson said, "Give her another three or four years. She'll be makin' it rain."

Harvey and Madeline exchanged the exact same three looks, except this time she coughed just so she wouldn't laugh.

Tiffany asked her. "You work as a therapist at the prison right?" When she nodded an affirmative, Tiffany gasped. "Oh my God, you probably have the most insane stories about the psycho killers in there."

She took a sip of her wine. "I had this one guy who said 'pickle' every time he meant to say 'window' and 'fritter' every time he said 'mother'. So it'd go something like. 'I threw that fritter-fucker out the pickle.'"

Her big eyes went bigger. "Shut. Up. Are you for real?"

"No," she said easily. "I just made that up."

Tiffany sent her a look of disbelief. "What?! Why would you make that up?"

Madeline shrugged. "It's that whole confidentiality thing. Can't actually say anything true about the sessions."

Tiffany glanced over at Johnson. "You're right. She is crazy."

Madeline shot Johnson a miffed look. If Johnson had been closer, Harvey bet she would have kicked him. "What kind of crap are you talkin' about me when I'm not around?"

Johnson opened up his arms expansively. "You called one of our detectives a 'time-wasting dick'. You ate a pot brownie. You said you had issues and they needed tissues-"

"That was one time!"

Harvey said languidly. "You can only hide it for so long before the public starts to get wise, sugarplum."

As the three of them fell their their regular stand-up routine, Tiffany put a cherry in her mouth and worked it around. When she pulled out the stem, it was tied in a tight knot.

Madeline blinked. "Okay. That's impressive."

Behind Tiffany, just out of eyesight, Harvey lightly tapped his beer bottle against Johnson's in approval.

Johnson pointed to Madeline. "Should I get you a cherry so you can join the club?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Today when I took off my bra, I tried to throw it over my head and it got caught in my hair."

Harvey added, "She's available for retirement and bachelor parties."

Johnson made a show of saying, "You know... that sounds quite libidinous."

Madeline's eyebrows went up in response.

Johnson raised his voice, "See that? What now? You're not the one one who can use big words." He repeated himself, "Libidinous. High five, bro." He put up his hand and Harvey obliged him.

Madeline asked, "Are you subscribing to Highlights or was today's Sesame Street brought to you by the letter 'L?'"

Johnson said, "I learned it from the big word book."

"The dictionary," Harvey said after he took a swig of his beer. "He means the dictionary."

Madeline looked over at Tiffany. "I'd tell you that it gets better the more often you're with them, but … it doesn't." With that, she worked on including Tiffany in the conversation. "So … did you see the Real Housewives of Metropolis finale?"

The girl came to life. "Oh my God! Yes!" She began to rattle on about the weekly dose of drama that she couldn't believe took place, and Madeline quickly glanced at Harvey in the midst of it.

Harvey shook his head at her. It always made him a little tired and reluctantly impressed, watching her nail people down like that.

He kicked back his beer, and just as he did, Johnson hit him hard in the shoulder. "Harv."

He put down his drink with a, "Hm?"

Johnson pointed over to the register at the far end of the bar. Both of them turned to see two shifty figures - one male, one female - who stepped way too close into the bartender's world. The young man had an unkempt mop of jet black hair, which contrasted his alabaster face. The female, a Hispanic woman with her hair pulled up in a tremendous messy bun, flinched her hand, and Harvey saw the unmistakable glint of a pistol pressed into the bartender's side.

Harvey said, "Let's move."

The two of them ran up to the register, guns drawn, and Harvey shouted, "GCPD! Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your head!"

Johnson moved so fast that Harvey barely saw what happened. He jumped and slid across the bar with swift agility, knocking over shot glasses and beer bottles. In one fluid movement, he grabbed up the girl by the arm, slamming her hand that held the gun against the wall, and the gun hit uselessly onto the ground. All around them patrons ran, called out, screamed, and hit the floor.

Harvey trained his revolver on her partner in crime. At the same time, the young man whipped out his own gun, and when he did, his hand visibly trembled. But he didn't lower his piece. Just like that, they were effectively in a stand-off.

Harvey held steady and made himself breathe in and out. The guy wasn't firing, which meant there was still a slim chance to communicate. But he was a big, ugly bucket of nerves, and if there was anything his time at the GCPD taught him, it was that nervous people tried stupid things. Harvey did not like the way his pointer finger trembled an inch off the trigger.

He made his face and his voice easy, though it took effort. "Look, kid. It doesn't have to go this way. Put down the gun."

Behind him, the Hispanic woman shouted at her accomplice. "Shoot him! Don't just fucking stand there! Shoot him!" Johnson grabbed her and jacked her up against the wall hard, yelling at her to shut up.

Harvey kept eye contact with the young man, all but pleading with him. "C'mon. Drop your gun."

_Don't make me shoot you, kid. Don't make me shoot you in front of her…_

(x)

Madeline looked up from where she'd grabbed Tiffany and pulled them both down onto the ground. Her heart beat in her chest with a ragged fierceness as she watched a young, most likely scared out of his skin, kid level his gun right at Harvey.

The kid's arm began to shake. He stammered and said something that Madeline couldn't hear.

"Yeah, okay," Harvey said. "I can get that... C'mon. You put down your gun. I'll put down mine. We all walk out of here."

After clocking nearly a cursory minute, the kid dipped his gun down uncertainly, and Harvey was all over him like a bad rash, knocking his weapon out of his hands. As his gun clattered onto the ground, Harvey pushed him up against the wall and quickly handcuffed his arms behind his back.

The sudden cheers, whoops, and applause of the bar caught Madeline off guard. Though her own nerves were still a wreck, she stood and began applauding as well. Then she bent down and carefully helped Tiffany climb back up to her feet. "Are you okay?" she asked her.

"Y-yeah," Tiffany stammered. "I think so." It helped Madeline smoothly transition into the role of caretaker, when she saw how upset the scene had made Tiffany. She was visibly shaking when she said, "What … what the hell just happened?"

Madeline smiled over at Johnson and Harvey as they led the two criminals out of the restaurant and into the street. "They're just engaging in some epic lawman heroics. It's always a thrill, though it does cut the evening short every time."

Once Tiffany seemed to be breathing more naturally and talking in a normal tone of voice, Madeline walked her outside to Johnson. When Johnson reached Tiffany, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and assured her that everything was under control. It smacked of Harvey's reaction to her after the drive-by incident from last winter.

Within a short amount of time, Johnson got Tiffany safely into a cab. Madeline said good-night, assuring her that it had been a pleasure meeting her and promising that not _all_ their nights out in Gotham ended quite in this fashion.

As her cab took to the street, a GCPD squad car pulled up, siren off, lights flashing. Harvey deposited the young Hispanic woman in the car, but not without a little opposition on her part. At first, Madeline wondered why they weren't putting both criminals inside the squad car together. Then, a realization pushed her head down into a soft nod.

It was a good strategy, keeping the two of them separated even during the ride back to the precinct. Divide and conquer.

As Madeline took a closer look from the sidewalk, she saw that the woman had a purple teardrop tattoo underneath her left eye. So she was no stranger to the system. The teardrop tattoo said two things. The first being 'I'm sensitive'. The second being 'I may have killed some people.'

As Harvey stepped away from the squad car and back onto the sidewalk, he looked up. Madeline caught his eye and she walked forward, until he grabbed her in a warm embrace, lifting her up off her tip-toes.

She released a long breath of relief as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "That was pretty impressive, Detective Bullock."

"Just another night in Gotham." When he set her back down on her feet, he looked her over and gently squeezed her shoulders. "How bout you? You okay?"

"I'm good." She glanced over her shoulder and then back at him, before she said in a soft voice, "And so is everybody else in there."

Harvey didn't know what to do with that, but he couldn't make himself not smile. He asked, "Want me to get you a ride back?"

Madeline looked to where Johnson stood vigilantly by the perpetrator. The young man sat on a bench right beside him still in cuffs, looking defeated, miserable, and if she read it right, a little more than scared. "No," she answered. "Let me see if I can get a quick assessment of the one Johnson's got over there."

Harvey squinted at her, asking a question without speaking the words.

Madeline said, "He's most likely heading my way whether he likes it or not. I may as well put in some work now."

He gently released her shoulders and let her go to work. "Go do your thing."

Madeline took her time walking over to Johnson. He stood by the bench, smoking a cigarette. She tried her best not to look as surprised as she felt, seeing him light up. He smoked like he wasn't entirely sure how it was done, as if maybe he just started smoking the day before.

She leaned on the concrete wall next to him, and when he looked over at her, she nudged him. "I think I'm gonna have to start calling you Barry Allen."

Johnson laughed out a long stream of smoke. "My red tights are at home in the wash."

Madeline made the international sign for 'gimme'.

He said, "I thought you quit."

"Just give me a cigarette already."

He handed her the pack, along with his lighter. When he did, she plunked herself down on the bench only six or seven inches off of his perp. The young man looked over at her with weary eyes.

Madeline held out a cigarette to him in a peace offering, positive reinforcement for dropping his gun when he did.

He nodded gratefully to her. Holding the far end of the cigarette, she placed it in the crook of his mouth. Then she lit his cigarette for him and backed away. He mumbled out a barely recognizable, "Thank you."

As the kid let out a puff of smoke, she lit up as well. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and pressed out a long stream of smoke. She asked the young man, "What's your name?"

"Sam."

"I'm Madeline," she said, staring off. "Your life's not over."

He made a noise of contempt through a string of smoke. "What do you know about it?"

"I've seen men in your position go on to live the life they want. Maybe not as soon as they'd prefer. But they move on just the same."

He watched her, frowning. "You tryin' to play me?"

"I'm not a cop," she said, after taking another drag. "So there's not any reason for me to try to play you."

Sam got a befuddled look on his face, like he was trying to put her neatly into a box and couldn't. "Then what're you doin' talkin' to me?"

"I'm a wake up call," she said clearly. "If you keep living like this, you're gonna get yourself killed. You almost got yourself killed today." She looked him in the eye. "Except you made the right choice. You didn't fire that gun. Even though she told you to. You didn't."

His voice lost some of its patience. "Don't talk about my lady."

Madeline took an educated guess. "I know the plan was to waste anyone that got in the way."

Sam didn't dispute the fact.

She said, "But even though that decision was made, you unmade it. There are plenty other decisions coming up ahead. And they're not made yet either." She stood up, reached into her purse, and pulled out one of her cards. She slid the crisp card gently in the front pocket of his plaid shirt. "If you wind up in Blackgate, give them this."

Sam looked her up and down, still trying to place her in that box. "You some kinda lawyer?"

"No, I'm some kind of shrink." She handed the cigarettes and lighter back to Johnson. Then she said to Sam, "For what it's worth, I hope I don't see you at Blackgate. But if you do wind up there, I'll be willing to talk if you are."

Madeline walked away from Sam and back over to Harvey. He stood leaning against the squad car that held his female perp. He talked with one of the cops who patrolled the area, and it looked like the cop was getting ready to haul back to the GCPD. When Harvey moved to the side, he lightly hit his fist onto the top of the squad car, and the car sped off, blue and red strobe lights flashing. Only moments later, a second police cruiser pulled up to the sidewalk, taking its place. Harvey walked over to Madeline as Johnson led Sam over to the their ride.

Harvey bent down and asked her, "How'd that session go, doc?"

"Maybe I turned some lights on. Maybe I didn't. Time'll tell." She put out her cigarette under her high heel, and she felt a heavy emotion fall over her like a shroud. "I'm ready to get out of here. I'm done talking to people who almost shot you."

He squinted at the young man, looking through the window of the squad car. "Nah, he ain't the type."

She nodded as that had been exactly her opinion. _Not yet anyway_ , she thought darkly.

Harvey took out his keys. As they walked forward, he called over to Johnson. "Hey, I'm takin' her back. I'll see you boys in a few."

Johnson lazily saluted him. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Madeline asked, "Isn't he calling you that a few years early?"

Harvey only smirked in reply.

(x)

Harvey opened the passenger side door for Madeline, and she climbed inside. When he slunk down into the driver's seat and closed the door, he gave her a quick once-over. She looked calm enough, which was a far cry from the last time locked and loaded firearms appeared on one of their nights on the town. Her hair was mussed, probably from when she hit the ground, and her breath smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. The way she sat made her shirt dip down and her skirt hike up, really giving him an eyeful.

Then Harvey saw those old familiar goosebumps prickle her arms. In fact, they stood that hair straight on end. So it did scare her. The entire thing got her…

His thoughts were interrupted as her eyes locked on his. She sent him that smile, the one that…

He knew that look. That wasn't fear. Oh, no, that was something else entirely.

Madeline asked him in a low, sweetly husky voice, "How soon do you have to be back at the station?"

Harvey said in a lilting way, "You know if you make 'em wait for a good hour or two, sometimes they're way more likely to snitch out the mastermind behind the operation."

"You're not gonna get it out of Sam."

"...Sam?"

"The kid," she said. "That boy's got it bad for teardrop tattoo."

A lop-sided smile inched onto his face. "He's ride or die, huh?"

Madeline ran her fingernails up his leg. "He's not the only guy like that."

Harvey sucked in a breath as he felt his heart rate kick up.

She smiled, seemingly pleased with the reaction she received. "Your place or mine?"

He started up the car. "Mine."

Harvey broke speed laws getting them to his place, as it was five minutes closer.


	28. Inside Out

6 Years Prior

Johnson clumped loudly up the stairs to Harvey's second floor apartment, hurrying ahead of him. The kid burst through the door and into his living room, where Madeline lay sprawled out on his couch watching television. Harvey had felt it was his job to break the news, but obviously, his partner was hellbent on beating him to the punch.

"You better get yourself some popcorn," Johnson said, hopping with excitement. "You are not gonna believe the shitshow that went down today."

From the couch, Madeline sent him a suspicious but interested glance. "Okay…" She muted the volume on the television. "You have my attention."

"Fuentes bit the big one." Johnson plopped down into the recliner caddy-corner from the couch. "His world is about to go nuclear."

Her initial skepticism started to fade. "If this is an April fool's joke, you're either a few months late or a few months early…"

Harvey moseyed in behind Johnson. "Essen called him into the principal's office. He made a dumbfuck move and got major shit for it."

Slowly, a self-righteous little grin spread across her face as she sat all the way up. "Okay, tell me everything. Don't leave anything out."

Harvey rocked back on his heels. "He shot out of her office like a bat outta hell. I believe his exact words were, 'This isn't over. You go after me, and I will mess up your life.'"

Johnson commented, "I hadn't heard him talk in a while. I forgot how much he sounds like a shithead."

Madeline quickly got back on topic. "Okay, okay, okay. What happened next?"

"That was it," Harvey said. "Aside from what us detectives can infer."

She raised her eyebrows, silently asking for his esteemed opinion.

When Harvey opened his mouth, Johnson stole his thunder once more. "He drank from the teet. When it dried up, he blackmailed the crap out of it."

Though she heard him, it was clear from Madeline's face that she didn't quite grasp what Johnson meant.

Harvey spelled it out for her. "You gotta pick one or the other," he said. "Fuentes took his cut from some of the more criminally-inclined CEOs of this city. Then, when they stopped funneling him money, he threatened to bring them in on charges, if they didn't keep that scratch comin'."

Her wide eyes blinked once slowly. "That is ...a wide array of felonies he's racking up."

Harvey said, "Yeah, well, a wide array of felonies can happen when a couple hundred thousand dollars gets involved."

Madeline said, "And Essen called him out on it." She gasped mockingly. "Could this be the end of Detective Esteban Fuentes?"

"I dunno," Johnson said uncertainly. He looked at Harvey. "Has the GCPD ever fired anybody?"

Harvey shrugged lazily. "Either way, it's no skin off my ass. He's gonna be off the grid Fuentes or in the system Fuentes. That shit-heel's straight outta options."

Madeline sighed out contently as she flopped back into the couch. "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So it was written. So it was done."

Harvey watched her, pleased that current events unfolded in a way that played nicely with her karma-dharma world-view and also unsettled by how for all her smarts she still couldn't see the seedy underbelly of Gotham with any clarity. He wondered how she managed it. Wondered how much was naive oblivion and how much was her burying her head deep in the sand, stubbornly choosing not to see into it.

Much like he stubbornly choose not to clue her into it, not with any of the real truth he could lay down. Harvey could convince her swiftly and roughly of the true vicious nature and blacker than black inside-out of Gotham. It would take nothing to do it. But the convincing would entail showing her how much that dark reality was a part of him too. Or maybe more than just a part. And he wasn't lookin' for either of them to take that inventory.

Still Harvey wasn't Fuentes. That much rang true. But he also knew they weren't anywhere as far apart on the scale as he let Madeline think. When he thought enough about it, all his talk felt a little too much like throwing stones from inside his rent-controlled glass house.

Then mercifully, the section of his brain concerned solely with alcohol consumption cleared its throat with authority. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, set down his hat, and made his way over to the fridge.

At the same time, Madeline grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. He glanced through the pass through to see she'd turned on the news.

Mayor James addressed the people of Gotham from his pulpit, his pasty complexion and false smile beaming brightly in technicolor. Now, there was a man that took his cut of cheddar from every corner of Gotham. When you had that kinda money stuffed under pillow and mattress, you had your hand in a little bit of everything… Either that or you gave the Tooth Fairy one hell of a blow-job.

Madeline made a noise of disgust. "Oh my God, every word out of that man's mouth is complete and total horseshit."

Johnson said, "He's a politician. It's in their job description."

"No, it's just another indicator of what we've allowed this city's compromised system to become," she argued incisively. She threw up her hand at the screen. "I mean, there's exactly -zero- oversight for any of them, which only leads to more money-incentivized loopholes and rampant cronyism. I mean, we're so goddamn worried about who's going to police the two-bit criminals in this city. Who's going to police these clowns?"

It was a soapbox speech they'd all heard from her before. From the kitchen, Harvey called out in a patronizing, routine way, "I think you should, honey."

"If you want us to listen, you've got to use…" Johnson breathed out loudly. "... way less words."

Madeline kept her eyes on the television as she said in a distracted voice, "Next time we're at your place I'll act it out with your dolls and explain it to you that way."

"They're action figures," he said defensively. "And they're worth more than than a year's worth of rent at your uptown apartment complex."

On screen, the Mayor called up Warden Grey to join him at the stand. He made with the textbook pandering, congratulating the warden on the decline in riots and the increase of ex-cons keeping their fingernails clean.

"Ugh." Madeline screwed up her face and grabbed up a legal pad from Harvey's coffee table. She ripped off a piece of yellow paper, balled it up, and threw it at the screen. It made direct contact with Grey's face before it bounced harmlessly back onto the carpet. "Get off my TV."

Harvey turned around and grabbed up three beers from the fridge. As he walked back into the living room, Grey accepted some kind of meaningless award, and Madeline's face flushed red with anger. "Even if those numbers were right, and they're not, I'm the only damn reason it would ever happen." She seethed out, "Fuckhead."

Johnson flinched as if someone poked him with a hot fire iron and made a noise to match. "Is it me? Or is it gettin' a little hostile in here?"

"Oh, trust me. He deserves it and then some," she popped off as Harvey handed Johnson a longneck.

Johnson smirked. "What'd the Mayor do to you?"

Madeline rolled her eyes. "Not the mayor. Grey, he-" She broke off as Johnson grinned at her masterfully. She smirked right back. "All right. You know what? Fuck you, too."

Johnson shook his head. "You've got a nasty mouth when someone crosses you."

"Though of course..." She said as Harvey handed her a cold beer. "I'm not thrilled with James either."

Harvey settled in beside Madeline. "James plays the game." He draped an arm over her thin shoulder. "You could take a lesson."

She sent him a look of silent incredulity, right before she went unsilent. "Oh, now all of a sudden you're a proponent of ass-kissing?"

"Me? I prefer to talk that sweet talk, gorgeous. Gets me places. You oughtta try it on for size sometime." He leaned in close to her and hissed out sarcastically, "Not every tool in your toolbox's gotta be a sledgehammer."

She shot back an irritated little glance but drank her beer.

Johnson pushed himself up to his feet and ambled his way back to the kitchen. "Man, I'm starving." He began rooting through the cupboards and fridge. "What the…" He called back to them. "Where the hell's the food?"

Madeline said, "Harvey ate it all. That's what happens here."

Harvey said, "You think that's good you oughtta see me play Hungry, Hungry Hippos."

The kid kept rummaging. "It's like North Korea in here."

Harvey chugged down half his beer and then said, "I keep sayin' it needs a woman's touch."

He watched Madeline glance at him just out of the corner of her eye before she looked back to the screen.

Johnson added, "You're outta beer, too."

Harvey groused and climbed to his feet, as the kid pointed out a problem that he agreed needed immediate attention. He pulled his hat down upon his head and grabbed up his keys.

Madeline asked, "Where are you hurrying off to? The wet t-shirt contest at Iggy's doesn't start until eleven."

Johnson sang out his answer to her question. "B, double E, double R, U, N. Beer run." He nodded to her. "How do you know about the girls at Iggy's anyway?"

"I'm good at noticing things."

Harvey finished his beer and set the empty bottle down on the pass through. "I love a woman who does her homework."

"Hell, I might even compete next time." When Harvey made a noise of approval, she said, "Nobody can eat as many wet t-shirts as I can."

As Johnson shook his head at her bad joke, Harvey announced. "You two want something from Paco's Tacos you better say something now."

He took down their complex orders, though somewhere he understood every single item of Mexican food was really just the same five ingredients recycled three times over.

Harvey bent down and kissed Madeline on the side of the mouth before he left, a habit they'd gotten into that got his stamp of approval. When he padded down the steps and out into the street, Johnson's sing-song line repeated over again in his head.

_B, double E, double R, U, N. Beer run._

(x)

"Thank God he's getting food," Madeline said. "He gets cranky when his blood sugar drops."

Johnson laughed, saying, "That and every other time." He relaxed down into Harvey's La-Z-boy, none the wiser to the fact that he perched himself atop the king's high throne. Madeline changed the channel because she refused to spend any more time with Grey than was required, and she turned on the UFC fight on Spike because she thought Johnson might approve. His wide grin confirmed it, and she set aside the remote.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then he said softly, "He's right, you know. Couldn't hurt to fly under the radar. Every once in awhile."

She waved it off. "Well, sure. I know that _now_."

Johnson scrunched up his face, letting her know that he didn't buy it for a second.

At that, she decided a change in conversation was called for. "How are things with you and Tiffany?"

He breathed out a labored, gusty sigh. "I don't know. We're on the outs again."

That came to her as no surprise. "What was it this time?"

"I fucked up." He sounded dismayed and frustrated and … very human. Madeline tried to remember the last time she'd been alone in a room with Harvey's partner, and she couldn't. In Harvey's presence she'd always played the obnoxious sister to Johnson playing the younger bratty brother. He frowned and continued, "I think... I can't even remember what I did. But I'm always doin' something."

He opened the floor for her to bash Tiffany, and she politely declined the invitation. "What does she complain about the most?"

"I'm never around." He spoke the obvious easily. "I say I'm gonna do shit. Then I don't, because I'm at work all the time."

"Then she wants something she's not getting." He looked over at her, and Madeline said, "Genuine attention."

"Yeah, well, I gotta problem with my attention span."

Her eyes widened just slightly and she barely held back her grin. Then she remembered herself. "I'm sorry. I don't mean-"

"What? You think I don't know?" he said. "I got fuckin' worse ADD than a squirrel doin' a line of coke off a tree stump."

She snorted a laugh, appreciating the image.

When silence settled back upon them, Johnson asked her, "So, uh… anyway. How do you and Harvey handle it?"

"Handle what? Coked out city vermin?"

Johnson gave her a look. "You know what I mean."

It was actually kind of sweet, the way he asked, but … "It becomes a non-issue, when I'm at work just as much as he is."

"Not just work, just …" He struggled with getting the words out or finding the right ones. "The reality of the stuff … we do. You know?"

So the kid realized that he'd been living dangerously. Though she supposed they all had been in their own ways. And now he attempted to give her a rote narrative, edited down to a form least likely to upset her. Madeline looked at him meaningfully. "You don't have to paint it up pretty for me. In case you were wondering."

His usually straight, muscular body slumped just slightly. She understood implicitly what she was watching as it happened. When the fullness of trauma sinks down like a cement block in your gut, you can become literally speechless. She wondered what self-destructive behaviors he enlisted to cope with the dark and wild creatures that seeped out of the black box. Though she had seen him just recently take up smoking, hadn't she? Not to mention, they both held their own beer bottles of self-destruction in their hands as they sat there.

Johnson's eyes stayed fixed on the floor. "It's not just the bodies, you know?" He looked back up. "Or the people who put them there. Who leave 'em for us to figure out. And listening to their cell phone ring, even though they're, you know, not there, but somebody's tryin' to …." He shook the thought away and switched gears, "And you got the girls, sometimes guys, who, like, beg to fuck you so you might cut 'em loose. Or the ones that look at you and man, they fuckin' despise you. Like all they want is to get a hold of you and put your lights out for keeps, you know?"

Madeline fell into a silent attentiveness with which she'd grown comfortable over her career. She nodded to him, encouraging him to continue.

He pushed his hand up the side of his face and through his soft blonde hair. "And it's like sometimes I stay at work," he admitted with flat honesty, "because even if I don't say anything, when I see her, it's all gonna show up on my face anyway."

Because Tiffany would be a mirror and he didn't want to see himself reflected back. Also at work he could feel successful, unlike he felt in his relationship. "Have you told Tiffany about any of this?"

"Why don't I just tell her she sucks at giving head? We can just skip to her not talkin' to me for a month that way."

She huffed a short laugh, mostly because the humor created a needed distance from the true horror of what he just shared with her. Her voice softened. "Isn't it possible that she'll understand?"

He said unconvincingly. "I don't know. Maybe."

She mentally added in for him, 'and maybe I'll head down to D.C. because I'm Secretary of State'. "Well, what's going to hurt her more? You cutting her off and her thinking it's her fault? Or you telling her what you just told me?"

"At least with the first way, it won't fuck her up."

And there it was, in its full naked glory. The lie he told himself. "And with the first way, if she called you a liar, she'd be right."

Johnson flinched, made uncomfortable and maybe a little angry by what she said. "So, what? I just inflict it on her? Endanger her with all this shit?"

She felt a sudden though not surprising pang of sorrow at what Johnson said. Because it may as well have been Harvey talking. "Sometimes the truth hurts a little. I think sometimes it's supposed to."

Johnson froze for a moment and stared at her. "Oh, shit. You're shrinking me right now."

"Don't take out your wallet just yet. For you, the shrinking's on the house." Madeline drank her beer. "And it's a good thing, too. Because my rates are _astronomical_."

Johnson barked a short laugh as he turned back to the TV. Madeline appraised him from where she sat. She'd written Johnson Pickering off her list of insightful, self-actualized persons quite some time ago. Now, she felt embarrassment rising into her cheeks at the snap judgment, which had been based more in Harvey's picture of Johnson than in her own. It turned out that Johnson could talk to her openly in a way she deeply wished Harvey would.

Madeline spoke up. "You really want to keep Tiffany? Lock her down for real?"

Johnson turned his face to her in attention.

She leaned in just slightly. "Give her what she wants the most."

"What's that?"

"I don't know," she chided, sitting back. "She's your girlfriend. Not mine."

He seemed to think on it as he finished his beer. Finally, he said, "You know, that jackass doesn't know how good he's got it. He's got his own psychologist on retainer."

She neglected to impart just how infrequently Harvey availed himself of the service. Instead, she said, "Well. He's not just that jackass. He's our jackass."

Johnson liked it when she said this. Then she realized who she was to him when Harvey wasn't there. She'd eclipsed her role as the obnoxious sister. She'd have to be careful, because after this conversation she was the mom.

The door of the apartment swung back on its hinges and slammed against the wall. She heard Harvey's voice ring out, "I come bearing sustenance."

Harvey brought in the beer and that's right, all the tacos. Madeline dug into her dinner as she watched Harvey and Johnson shove whole tacos into their mouths. She mused silently throughout the evening, only sporadically interjecting into Harvey and Johnson's comfortable, practiced bromancing.

As the night drew on, Johnson suggested beer pong, and they walked to the neighborhood bar down the street. Madeline threw down a couple twenties to the bartender while Harvey said, "Whatever needs to happen to get beer pong going, make it so." Long plastic tables, red solo cups, and ping-pong balls came out from every corner, and they went more than a few rounds. Harvey kept himself together for the most part, but Johnson drank himself well into a stupor. Madeline internally took some responsibility for what transpired and sweet-talked Harvey into letting the kid crash. Though of course, he wasn't a kid. Hadn't been for some time.

In the early hours of the morning, Madeline and Harvey held each other in bed. As Harvey ran his hand through her hair, she said, "You know, if I lived here, I'd be home by now."

In less than a month, they moved in together.


	29. I'll Take You There

6 Years Prior

Harvey awoke to the sound of her keys clanking down on the coffee table. He groaned, rolled over in bed, and glanced over at the digital clock. It was nearly eight in the evening, which meant he'd gotten a decent day's sleep after he and Johnson rolled into the precinct from their stake out and resulting arrests a little after ten-thirty a.m. He grumbled to himself and got to his feet, still wearing his undershirt and threadbare plaid pajama pants.

He entered into the living room to find Madeline all but collapsed on the couch, still the picture of professional responsibility from her high-heeled feet up to her hair pulled back in a french twist.

He scuffed over to her. "How'd things go at Smackgate?"

"You know how I said yesterday was craptastic?"

"I thought you said it could eat a bag of dicks." He gently lifted her legs up and over top of his knees as he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

She sat up on her elbows. Her face looked drawn, like it did whenever she could use a cigarette. "I take it back. Today can eat a bag of dicks."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." The she corrected herself in a tight, aggravated voice, "Everything. I just sucked. I was off all day." Harvey knew his face showed how much he disbelieved this was possible, and Madeline must have seen it because she hurried to convince him otherwise. "I rolled through there like a tropical hurricane. I'm like that outfielder Johnson was trying to egg into a fight. I'm droppin' the ball left and right."

As she spoke, Harvey looked down at her nylon-clad legs. Though he understood somewhere that this was the point where he should be 'actively listening' or saying responsive, supportive things, his thoughts had less high-minded plans on the agenda. He slipped off her high-heel, letting it clump down to the floor, and he started rubbing his thumbs in circles around the arch of her right foot.

Her smile was tired, but it still appeared. He rubbed his hands a little harder around her foot. She continued, saying, "I'm gonna have to fix it, try to make nice with … all the people…" If he heard right, she was having a little difficulty putting words together. She dipped her head back and followed it up with, "Don't... stop doing that."

Harvey grinned proudly and he grunted in approval. It took less and less these days. Just a nudge in the general direction, intentional or accidental, didn't matter. Harvey'd had what seemed like a lifetime of that being his baseline, but this was the first time anyone dared try to keep pace with him. It was pretty wonderful. He took his sweet time massaging up her leg. "You're done for the day, doc," he said in a hushed voice. "You kick back. Let me get to work."

The difference was night and day when they were done, literally and figuratively. The sun went all the way down, and as for Madeline, she had her hair down and her rumpled clothes only half on. She breathed easy, her body holding exactly none of the tension it had just prior.

She said in an absent but relaxed way, "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up, detective. How can I ever thank you?"

"All in a day's work, ma'am. Just doin' my job."

"Thank God for civil servants."

"You can thank God it's Friday." He slipped her bra strap back up into place. "You get time off for bad behavior."

Madeline frowned, blinked, and sat up. "...What?"

Harvey watched her. "You got the weekend to recharge your batteries. The prison won't let you do your time 'til Monday."

She sucked in a breath and expelled an 'oh, shit'. When she stood up, she stumbled a little, causing Harvey to mentally give himself an 'atta boy' for excellent and thorough work. Then she hurried over to the calendar. She walked back over, saying, "It's the fifth."

His eyes searched hers. "And that means what?"

An emotion flashed across her face. Then it was gone before he could identify it and replaced only with hard urgency. "I have to get to West Virginia."

Harvey's shoulders dropped. He knew this side of Madeline all too well. That stubborn, my mind got made up two clicks ago and there ain't no going back now side. He struggled to adjust to the sudden change in pressure. "Okay." He sat up fully on the couch and rested his forearms against his knees. "We'll get you a plane ticket. When you gotta be there by?"

She licked her top lip and she started to look upset. "I have to be there now."

He frowned. "All right. Time out. What's goin' on with this?"

"Can you get me to the train station?"

Harvey glanced out the window at the dark evening sky. "Let me make sure I'm not hearin' things. You want to take the train by yourself out of Gotham after…" He checked his watch. "Nine at night?"

Maybe a year ago she would have made a federal case, but not now. The city (and Harvey) had taught her that the train was a worst case scenario during the day and suicide by night.

She glanced away and brought out her phone. Soon, she was on the line with the airport. Harvey found a dust-thin reserve of patience in the midst of his mild aggravation and growing concern. He used the time to scroll through the upstairs rolodex of possible scenarios that could get her worked up like this. His frown deepened when none of them solved the mental jigsaw puzzle.

After a good ten or fifteen minutes, she hung up her cell phone. "There's flights, but they're all over six hundred dollars before fees." She mumbled, "With transfers they won't get me there in time any way."

Harvey voiced the one certainty he'd come across. "This got something to do with your family?"

Madeline stared at him for a long moment. "Yeah," she said. "I mean, technically. Yeah."

All right, so she didn't want to talk about it. Finally, there was something Harvey could understand.

He crossed the room to where she stood. "I'll drive you."

She looked up at him. "What?"

"It won't get you there any faster, but it'll keep some of your last paycheck in the bank."

"You don't have to do that. I can rent a car-"

"Right. 'Cause I'm gonna send you off on an all-night drive across state lines. That sounds like me."

She hesitated before she said, "I can't ask you to do that. You've got work tomorrow."

"They've been workin' me like a Hebrew slave," he said decisively. "They can all wait a day."

Madeline tilted her head at him, and when she did, a few strands of red hair fell into her eyes. A look washed across her face, definitely one of his top three, maybe even his favorite. She closed the distance between them. "I haven't even told you why I'm going there."

"S'a long haul to West Virginia." He brushed her hair out of her eyes and off her forehead. "That oughtta give you time to get me up to speed."

They changed into street clothes, and Madeline packed them a bag. Harvey called out of work, and after a quick bite to eat, they hit the road. What Harvey didn't tell her was that with everything currently stirring in Gotham, he liked the idea of them being out of town just fine.

(x)

Harvey took the first shift. Madeline took the second. They made the drive with only minor inconveniences, a wrong turn here, a wisecrack there. (Harvey narrated when she started texting while driving. "By the way, this is the part of the PSA where the screen goes black and all you hear is the crunch of metal and pop of broken glass. Right before someone says, 'Don't be like Maddie.'" Madeline pointed out Harvey's bad habit of taking stop signs as mere suggestions, no doubt acquired through his years of rolling his squad car around Gotham.) The trip took just under nine hours altogether.

When she pulled into a parking space and turned off the motor, she glanced over at Harvey and smiled wearily. He'd slumped down, arms crossed, snoring lightly. She gently ran her hand over his head of hair, and he grunted awake. He squinted his eyes open and looked around, appearing uncertain as to where he was until his eyes found hers.

She said, "We made it."

Harvey ran his hands down his face in response. As they both exited the car, Madeline reached into the backseat and grabbed up a small paper bag, before they headed up to the entrance.

The grey sky was a hue just bluer than the color of cigarette smoke, with morning hinting just underneath. She stopped and stared up at the dark iron lettering spelled out in a half-circle above them.

Spring Hill Cemetery.

It took a little bit of legwork to find his grave. A thought struck her that physically hurt in her chest and stomach. Because she forgot where his grave was. She forgot every time, in the same obnoxious way that she forgot where she put her car keys, forgot to lock the door, forgot which roads went where even if she'd taken them a dozen times before. Some logical section of her mind also knew it didn't help that she only ever made the trip to Spring Hill once a year, and also it didn't help that the gravestone was a simple, boxy granite block, nearly identical to all the others in that section of the cemetery.

But finally, like always, she found him.

A wind came up from somewhere, playing with her hair, pushing red strands out of her face.

The tombstone read simply:

Jason Elliott Scott

October 7, 1969 - October 5, 2007

Madeline lowered herself down in front of the dew-filled grass, legs crossed. A few moments later, Harvey joined her and sat down just an inch off of her. Her throat dried up, and when she spoke, her voice cracked. "Hey, Uncle Jay. I'm sorry I'm late. I forgot again."

She barely got the words out before sobs wracked out of her in a complete way that she hadn't expected. Harvey slipped a strong arm around her and drew her to him. She burrowed her face in his chest almost on contact.

He ran his hand over her head and whispered to her. "Shh, it's all right. It's gonna be all right."

Wrapped tightly in his arms, she felt herself let go. She cried in a way that she often wished her clients would cry, fully, holding nothing back. Her whole body shook from the release.

It felt to her like she cried for quite awhile, but of course, it didn't last forever. Eventually, Madeline found herself breathing more evenly. When she sniffed back, Harvey dug out a tissue from her purse and handed it to her. She thanked him and cleaned herself up, before she turned back to face her uncle's gravestone.

Madeline leaned back in Harvey's arms and he held her so that she was curled up in his lap with one side of her face against his chest. The silence grew, and Harvey didn't press her. Eventually, she started talking. "I didn't even know I had an uncle until I was about fifteen. My dad thought it was better if I didn't even know about him." She sniffed again and settled against Harvey. "But I found some pictures in my grandmother's house one day. I asked her about them, and I guess she thought I was old enough to know. She told me that my Uncle Jay had been in prison since he was around twenty, twenty-one."

She felt Harvey chest tense slightly before he released a long exhale. She'd told him that they were going to a cemetery to visit her uncle's grave, but that was about all she'd told him. She hadn't been sure how much she wanted to tell, how much she wanted anyone to know, and she also realized how ridiculous that thought was now that she recognized it. Deep down, she wanted Harvey to know everything.

She said in a subdued voice, "He had alcohol and drug problems. Mental health problems. Most people don't have the first without the second." She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a shudder. "And he shouldn't have been driving. He swerved into traffic, hit another car at full speed, head-on collision. He killed the woman in the car he hit. He got knocked around, but he was okay." She added, "Physically."

Madeline felt Harvey rub his hand affectionately down her shoulder. She stared off. "So I started writing to him. Probably just to be rebellious. Probably just to get my dad's attention, so he'd see the letters come back in the mail. I don't know…" She shook her head and continued, "Then I found out that ... I liked my uncle. He was grateful that I started writing to him, and he was … honest. In a way my family wasn't at the time. He told it like it was. I think that made me more honest, too."

Harvey asked, "How'd your folks take to you doing that?"

"Not well," she said automatically. "They pretended like it wasn't happening. I'd find the letters unopened on my dresser. Obviously my parents put them there, but no one said anything about them."

Madeline stared up at Harvey. He frowned back at her and looked immensely confused. She said to him,"I know you think your family's … a lot to take. And for all I know you may be right about that. But at least they spell it out in black and white. In other families … in my family, they just sweep anything they don't want to see under the rug."

Harvey said, "So… nobody said word one." When her face confirmed it, he looked at her like he didn't believe it could be possible. "So what? They just acted like they didn't notice? Stewed in silence?"

"Yes, well. Denial's not just a river in Egypt."

"Yeah, well. That's insane."

Madeline smirked up at him, as she often did when he threw that word around. "They thought my uncle was insane. They weren't entirely wrong. He was to some degree."

They settled back into silence, and Harvey asked softly, "So … what happened?"

Madeline's face went slack. "He died the way so many men do in prison. He ... " She huffed a short breath. "You know, no matter how much time passes... There's no way to say it that isn't horrible. Sometimes I say he checked out early. Sometimes I say he opted out. But … the truth is he killed himself."

His arms tighten around her again, and he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes. "The hell of it is… It was only a few months before he was going to get out. And I was ... busy. Taking a bunch of AP classes, going to visit colleges, getting ready to finish high school. I… I barely wrote to him at all."

"That ain't your fault."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "Really I do. It just _hurts_."

Madeline felt tears brimming again, and she let them fall.

When she brushed away her tears and her body began to relax again in his arms, Harvey reached over and picked up the brown paper bag she brought with her. "What's in the grab bag?"

Madeline smiled and sat up, accepting the bag from him. She pulled out two cans of cream soda and a bag of blue candy. "He wrote me one time and said the first thing he was going to do when he got out of prison was pick up a pack of blue raspberry Juicy Twists and a can of cream soda." She said, "Now I doubt that's actually what he was going to do. More likely he just had enough sense to give his seventeen-year-old niece the highly edited version. But either way, I take him at his word."

Harvey popped the tab on his soda can, as did Madeline. He said, "To your uncle."

Madeline toasted him as well.

Harvey said in a practiced way. "May the road rise up to meet him." Then he took a swig.

They sat there by the gravestone, drinking cream soda and finishing off the licorice. Madeline told stories about her uncle until she ran out of stories to tell. Finally, when the sun climbed high and sky started to lighten, she rose to her feet and brushed off her jeans.

As he stood beside her, Harvey asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She glanced back at the grave and spoke directly to her uncle. "I'll see you next time around…" She looked back up at Harvey. "Maybe next year I'll get the date right."

Harvey shrugged. "It's a big world. It's October 5th someplace."

Madeline looked up and saw him, really saw him, in a complete and stunning way in which she highly doubted that he ever saw himself. She stared into those piercing blue eyes of his, thinking… _Men shouldn't have eyes like that_. It made it nearly impossible to look at anything else.

She reached up and ran her thumb across his bottom lip. That drew him to her, and she kissed him soundly, as the light from the sunrise fell across them. When she finally pulled back, Harvey linked his arm through hers and walked her back to the car.

She called and booked them a room at the nearest halfway decent hotel, which outside Charleston was still a good hour away. Harvey took over driving, and they stopped to pick up breakfast at a convenience store down the street. Harvey got something dripping with grease while Madeline opted for a bag of trail mix.

When they got back to the car, Madeline noticed that Harvey didn't make an easy joke about how out of all the items she could have chosen, she still picked the assorted fruits and nuts. Even though he could have.

(x)

Despite the impracticality of owning and operating a full-size sedan in Gotham, Harvey liked a lot of things about his beat-up car. The thing he liked most at the moment was that Madeline could sit right beside him in the center seat with no console between them.

She leaned her head against his shoulder as he drove, staring off in a thoughtful way as she often did once matters at hand were put to rest. She looked exhausted and torn up. Wasn't easy keeping secrets, wasn't easy letting them spill out either. It always took its toll.

He hated seeing the grief cloud over her, hated all the things that wrought the change. But there was something about seeing her with her makeup wiped away and her defenses down that hit right down to the core of him. She let herself be completely vulnerable with him, but more importantly, she trusted him to carry her through it. Harvey found himself relieved and downright pleased to find that he'd risen to the occasion.

Now in the car, with her leaning her head against his shoulder, he could smell her shampoo and lingering traces of perfume, and he could see the full smattering of freckles across her cheeks that she usually kept covered with makeup. No doubt so people would take her more seriously.

Harvey found himself working up to giving her a compliment on one or the other, when Madeline said, "Thank you for coming with me."

"Like you coulda stopped me."

She laughed and the laugh colored her prettily.

He said, "C'mon, girl. We tight. You and me."

She glanced up at him. "You're an amazing man, Harvey Bullock."

He tried not to look stunned at what she said, and then he conceded, "I have my moments."

Madeline stared off again. "You know, I never feel ashamed when I'm with you."

He smirked. "That's 'cause my Everest of shame dwarfs your teeny-tiny shame anthill. I got enough for the both of us and then some."

"Don't do that," she said quietly but with great firmness. "With you, there's just this deep acceptance. I know because I feel it all the time."

Harvey felt something pull inside his chest, some long dormant emotion. "This feeling I get with you? That's somethin' different. And I know because I've met a lot of people, and I've never felt this way with any of 'em. Not ever," he said, even though guys weren't supposed to say things like that.

That worked a smile onto her face. It took a minute but then she said, "Do you know when I knew?"

He glanced at her, and then gazed back to the road. "You tell me."

"It was that night when you drove us up to the drop-off."

Harvey flinched in surprise. What she said silenced him for a good, long moment. "...All the way back then?"

"What can I say," she said softly. "I get attached quick."

He made a right turn as he said, "Never occurred to you to clue a guy in, huh?"

"Like you didn't know."

He hadn't. Hoped, of course, but … he supposed when all was said and done he really was a detective. He'd needed irrefutable evidence before he could know for sure. A sly little smile spread across his face as he said back in a louder, more confident way, "I mean, you ain't gotta tell me, sweetheart. This whole thing's been pretty rock 'n roll so far. I know it."

Harvey was grateful to see that got a laugh out of her. That lulled them into a long but comfortable silence again, and she rested the side of her head back against his shoulder. Harvey listened to the radio playing an old but catchy tune, and he said in a softer, more serious voice, "You know, when I'm with you…"

He looked down to see that somewhere in their silence Madeline had closed her eyes and fallen fast asleep. He turned his eyes back to the road before he whispered, "When I'm with you, I feel like maybe I can pull this off."

When Harvey took their exit and stopped at a red light, he stared down at her. He shook his head to himself. Where'd she come from? This creature of real substance and goddamn unbearable beauty. What was she doing with him?

As usual, he didn't have an answer.

He rubbed his five 'o clock shadow and weariness stole over him. He was tired. Lord, he was tired. Tired but good. And all the way in love.

The light turned green, and he drove forward.

Yeah.

And all the way in love.


	30. Lovefool

(x)

6 Years Ago

"Love me, love me. Say that you love me. Fool me, fool me. Go on and fool me," Johnson sang under his breath as he filed away his paperwork in the annex.

Beside him, Detective Samuels, an overweight mustachioed cop who worked in the property crimes unit, growled a noise of annoyance. "Hey, Pickering, who sings that song?"

"Uh..." He drew out. Then, "I don't know."

He said in a hard voice, "Well, whoever it is, why don't you let -them- sing it?"

All the insults, sarcasm, and machismo that ran through the GCPD sort of reminded Johnson of the El Train tracks by his apartment. That train went by so often that after awhile he didn't even notice it. He said, "I would if I could. But it's an ear worm. It's been stuck in my head since last night."

Samuels murmured, "My fist's gonna get it unstuck if you don't quit singing."

Johnson made a face. The precinct needed like some yoga mats or some guided meditation or some oolong tea. Officers around the GCPD had some serious rage issues. "It's the song from that Romeo and Juliet movie from like a million years ago. It was on TBS when I rolled in at like two in the morning. But I don't know the whole song, so it's just that one line on repeat over and over..."

Samuels cast him a strange look. "You were watching... a chick flick?"

"Hell yeah. I've got friends who are girls. I'm dating a girl. It's all research. I gotta figure out how these ladies think."

Johnson paused to let Samuels start loudly explaining just how much of a pussy that made him, but to his surprise, he switched topics. "So me and the guys are lookin' to go out tonight. Get a little crazy and get into some shit. What do you say? You in?"

_Love me, love me, say that you love me..._ He slid a file back in place. "What? Yeah, okay. That's cool. I'll go."

"Meet us in a half hour in front of the precinct. We'll pick you up." With those parting words, he turned heel and left the annex.

Johnson watched Samuels go, thinking about how it'd been months since anyone at the GCPD besides Harvey or Alvarez had asked him if he wanted to go out and punish his liver. He guessed that meant he must be doing something right.

A crisp electronic chirp sounded, indicating that he'd received a text message, and Johnson looked down at his phone.

Tiffany: **hey bae.**

That and Tiffany had been blowing up his phone and looking for attention lately. So clearly he'd been doing something right there, too. He smiled just slightly and texted back. **Love me love me say that you love me**

Tiffany: **uh. i love you?**

Johnson: **Fool me fool me go on and fool me**

Tiffany: **omg i hate you**

Johnson: **haha too late you love me. what's up sexy**

Tiffany: **got study group later tonight. wanna come by after?**

Johnson: **i'm getting crunk with my fellow metermaids.**

From looking at the text log, Johnson could see that she read it but she didn't text back. He knew from experience that this was no bueno.

Damage control mode activated. **I could come see you after I get crunk. Might just be late. Or early depending on how you wanna look at it.**

He rested his back against the nearest file cabinet. She saw that text, too, and again she made no response. Johnson scratched his head. Maybe because it was a booty call? Nah, it wasn't technically a booty call if it was planned hours in advance when you were stone cold sober, right? And besides, who doesn't love a good booty call? All the same, he found himself relieved as moving bubbles appeared on the screen, letting him know that she was typing a response.

Tiffany: **Ok. But I need you to do me a favor.**

Johnson started walking out of the annex. **Does it involve backrubs? Cause I'm all about it. I'm a professional.**

Tiffany: **You're a cop. Not a masseuse.**

Johnson reached his desk, still texting away. **I can't be both?**

Tiffany: **Since when do police officers have anything to do with backrubs.**

Johnson: **Since me. I wear many hats.**

Tiffany: **I need you to talk to me while I'm at the library waiting for people to show up. I'm so bored.**

There was an assignment he could handle. **Anything else m'lady?** Apparently, he got some of that Shakespeare dialogue stuck in his head from the movie, too.

Tiffany: **When you come over don't be all loud and wake up my roommates like last time. And don't get so drunk that you're useless.**

Welp, he was the one who asked her. Johnson nodded at what was actually a quite reasonable request given their history. Then he texted, **Let's get back to talking about backrubs.**

A half hour later, Johnson met the other officers at the front doors of the GCPD. Samuels, Grier, and Mulholland were the main guys from the property crimes unit. They hung out by the entrance for a bit and bullshitted around before they all piled into Samuels' sleek, cherry red Mustang. Or as Johnson liked to call it a 'please-pull-me-over' car.

He and Tiffany kept texting while Samuels drove them through the city, causing Johnson to only halfway pay attention to the conversation happening around him. They asked the same questions everyone asked. How's life treatin' you? What are you getting up to this weekend? You gettin' your dick wet? What the hell's up with this cap on overtime hours? All that shit. It wasn't tough to keep up.

When the car slowed to a crawl, Johnson raised his eyes from his smartphone. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, until the car drew up to the curb on a poorly-lit street. They came to a stop and parked less than fifty feet away from a small neighborhood of well-maintained tract houses.

When Samuels killed the motor, Johnson frowned. They were on the outskirts of Gotham, a far cry from any of the police force's regular watering holes. He spoke up. "What're we doin' here?" He scoped the area and spoke with frank certainty, "There's no beer here. We should go where there's beer."

The three officers didn't answer him. Instead they all looked at each other with half-smiles, as if they were sharing an inside joke, and they stepped out of the car without saying a word. Johnson put away his phone and frowned as he followed them.

A cool breeze struck his face as he joined the other officers on the corner. He said in a louder voice, "Hey. I'm gettin' bored over here. What's the plan?"

In front of him, the dull orange glow of streetlights colored the sidewalk like an ugly coat of paint. It was then that he noticed someone standing directly beneath the streetlight nearest to them. The man stood quiet, expectant, almost as if he'd been waiting for them. As the figure emerged from the shadows, Johnson recognized him and stopped dead in his tracks.

Detective Esteban Fuentes smiled at him, the glare of the orange streetlamp illuminating his face. He dressed him down with a look. "Hey Pickering. What's new?"

Johnson's frown deepened. "The fuck are you doin' here?"

His voice kept its unsettling chummy tone. "The boys didn't tell you I'd be swinging by?"

"They didn't mention it. I woulda thought all your legal adventures and administrative leave would be like keepin' your nights full."

Fuentes scoffed at him. "I'd be careful if I were you. Looks like you're flyin' solo tonight."

The other officers all stepped over to Fuentes underneath the streetlamp. Johnson felt his body steel over as he had no choice but to reluctantly agree. "Yeah. That's... what it looks like."

Samuels started handing out black wool ski masks, and each officer took one. Fuentes ambled forward and held out a ski mask to Johnson. "Doesn't have to stay that way. Truth is we could really use a hand with this." He grinned unpleasantly. "After all, the fun's just gettin' started."

As Johnson looked down at the ski-mask and then back up to Fuentes, he demanded, "What the hell's goin' on here?"

Fuentes walked over to stand beside him and pointed a finger toward the tract houses. "See that cute little two-story home over there? That would be the residence of Alya Tremaine. Last name's an alias, of course. You remember her, don't you? Tall drink of water, long black hair? That's Dimitri Codmolov's lieutenant. Way we hear it, Dimitri's got a soft spot for her..." Fuentes pulled his ski-mask down to cover his face, as did the three other detectives with him. The mask muffled his voice just slightly. "We figure it's time somebody sent a message to these Russians. Let them know the GCPD's not afraid to get a little crazy and get into some shit."

The other detectives laughed boorishly, while Samuels popped open his trunk and pulled out a well-used baseball bat.

Realization struck Johnson, and his eyes went wide. "You can't do that," he ordered in a hard voice. "You rough her up, and they're gonna think Harvey's the one behind it."

This earned Johnson a soft rebel yell from one of the detectives, along with a long, low whistle from Fuentes. "Look at that, boys." He raised his bushy eyebrows triumphantly. "Pickering put it together. And without his partner here to help him out with the logic."

At that, some distress kicked up in his chest and washed across his face. These assholes manipulated this. They set him up from the word go.

Fuentes laughed as he watched it happen. "We woulda told you sooner. We just didn't want you to go ruining the surprise." Next to him, Samuels slapped his baseball bat into his hand.

Johnson glared at them. "Yeah, well, it's real nice to be in the fuckin' loop."

Fuentes opened his arms in a brotherly fashion. "Hey, hey. This is a good lesson for you, kid. A real good reality check." He spoke as if stating facts, "Bullock had every opportunity. But he just wouldn't get with the program. He brought this on himself."

At first, it was the stealth Johnson didn't like. Now he liked the threat to his and his partner's safety even less. He squared his shoulders and stepped up to Fuentes. "That's a load of shit. You know what this is really about? You getting your ass kicked, like a whole year ago, after spouting off the dumbest fuckin' bullshit I've ever heard. Like what does that even..." He raised his voice, addressing the other officers who stood with Fuentes. "Who here even gives a shit about any of that?!"

Fuentes walked forward into Johnson's space. "It's about respect," he said. "Who has it and who doesn't."

Johnson was going to continue to argue his point, until he recognized what he saw in Fuentes' unblinking glare. He'd seen it too many times not to know it for what it was. It was hate. His eyes widened when he realized aloud. "... You're really gonna do this."

He was rewarded with yet another scoff. "Gotham's a violent town. 'Case you haven't noticed, things have a way of happening here." Fuentes spoke slowly, daringly. "So what's it gonna be, kid? You with us or against us?"

Johnson could feel the muscles in his arms thrumming. As usual, his body knew what to do before his mind did. Before he even knew what was happening, he felt himself moving and he was just -there-. Standing between his fellow officers and the sidewalk leading up to the tract houses, among them Alya Tremaine's. He looked right at Fuentes. "Fuck you, you little weasel. If you think I'm gonna let this happen, then you're outta your goddamn mind."

They approached him, and Fuentes sneered at him, "Step to one side. Whether you like it or not, I'm going in there."

He stood his ground. "Yeah, well, five minutes ago I was going to grab a beer. Guess neither of us is going where we think."

Fuentes popped off a laugh. "No offense, Pickering. But I've seen you little frat boys fight. You might wanna get out of the way before someone gets-"

Johnson's left fist hit his cheekbone with a gratifying pop, as he let Fuentes find out the hard way that he was a southpaw. Fuentes stumbled backward, cursing him and holding the side of his face. But Johnson didn't have much time to relish his win. His nerves lit up like neon as the rest of the detectives descended upon him in clear retaliation.

With a short growl, Johnson launched himself into a full attack, throwing punch after punch into each man that dared face him. To his surprise, he lasted almost a full ten seconds before a hard right hook nailed him dead in the face. Bright stars flashed into his field of vision, and Johnson staggered backward. But the moment he regained his footing, he gathered momentum and ran straight into the first man he saw, tackling him to the ground.

From there, Johnson started to lose the battle. He could feel himself flagging as he kicked up dirt and pummeled his fists into whoever stepped into his radius. If it had been a fair fight, Johnson would have knocked at least one of them ass over teakettle, but he supposed throwing that first punch at Fuentes didn't encourage him to play fair. As a matter of fact, it encouraged the exact opposite. In the middle of scuffling with another one of the officers, Johnson heard the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked back. He froze in place immediately at the sound, panting for breath.

The other detectives stood up, brushing themselves off, as Johnson stayed on the ground, staring down the barrel of Fuentes' gun. He reluctantly scuffed up to his feet, his instinct to fight taking a backseat. He'd been alive ever since he could remember. He was ready to risk a lot of things, but not that.

Fuentes gripped his gun, and they moved past him back up onto the sidewalk. "Now, why don't you do us a favor and give Bullock a call? Tell him his old friend Fuentes is taking care of things for him."

Johnson spat blood into the dirt at them, as all four officers charged forward with Samuels' wielding his bat as he ran. They burst into Alya Tremaine's house, knocking in her door and demolishing her front window. His stomach twisted into a hot pit as he heard all the destructive sounds of shattering glass, furniture breaking, men shouting threats, and fists pounding flesh into pulp.

Johnson's whole face throbbed, and he ran his hands through his dirt-filled hair as he stood on the sidewalk, helpless to stop it.

_Has everyone lost their goddamn minds?_ The singular thought made his head hurt ten times worse.

The moon came out from behind a thick cloud, casting more light onto the scene, and it snapped Johnson out of his stupor. He started off backing away, and before he knew it, he was sprinting down the street, putting as much distance between himself and the sounds of Alya Tremaine's home being attacked as he could.

Though he hated himself for it, he did exactly as Fuentes told him to do.

Harvey picked up in the middle of the fourth ring. "Who the hell's callin' me?" His voice was groggy. Johnson had clearly woken him up.

"Harv. It's me."

He groaned. "Thought I told you not to call me on my night off. This better be good."

"It's not," Johnson said. "It's not good."

After a short pause, his partner's voice held concern. "What's goin' on?"

"I"m outside Alya Tremaine's house. Fuentes and Samuels and a bunch of other shitass detectives are beating her face in."

He sounded dazed, as though he couldn't possibly have heard him right. "... Wait, what … What the ...?"

"Look, I got played, all right? The guys from property crimes drove me out here to Dimitri's lieutenant's house. Fuentes put them up to it. They're wrecking shit up and now? He's gonna think it's us."

Harvey's voice was one part panic, five parts rage. "THEY WHAT?! HOW COULD - THAT GODDAMN SNEAKY SON OF A-"

"Yeah, I know," Johnson said, keeping calm for his partner's benefit. "Look, Harv ... I did what I could… but it didn't-"

"Get yourself the hell out of there." He spoke much more softly all of a sudden, which only made the words resonate all the more. "Get your ass back to the precinct. Now."

"Yeah, I'm on my way. But you're gonna need to get there, too."

"Oh, I'll be there," he snapped. "No one's gonna be able to fuckin' miss me."

The conversation didn't go much further from there. Johnson shut down the call and replaced his phone in his pocket. His brain swam with all the wild information reaching him until a text message chirped, interrupting his thoughts. He lifted up his phone... to see Tiffany's reply.

**You at the bar yet?**

It seemed impossible that ten minutes ago he'd been in the car texting Tiffany, but there it was in black and white. He typed out his usual, **Can't come by tonight. Something came up.**

As he stared down at the text, his entire face squeezed together tightly in frustration. He erased the message and wrote instead, **Crazy shit going down at work. If I don't handle it right now, it could be bad.**

He sent the message before he could lose his nerve, at least moderately certain that it was mostly true. When she didn't immediately reply, he found himself following it up with, **I want to tell you about it but I don't want to make things worse.**

Johnson watched the text load and braced himself. This was the part where she would pitch a fit and tell him he was the biggest asshole to ever walk the face of the Earth because he once -again- chose work over her. She'd say all that, you know, right before she dumped his ass like-

**I got you boo. I miss you be safe.**

Johnson looked down at his phone in shock, but with everything taking place, he quickly shook himself out of it.

He hailed himself a cab and headed back to the GCPD.


	31. Back Against the Wall

6 Years Prior

Harvey Bullock stormed into the GCPD, like he was planning a cookout and every single person in the precinct was going to be the barbeque. It was past two, closer to three 'o clock in the morning, but no one would know it to look around the station. The GCPD was like a casino, existing in the eternal now. Which only made sense. At this point in the night, the city's criminal entrepreneurs were finishing their warm-up and just starting to really hit their stride.

He moved through the ground floor entirely populated with work stations, officers, and their arrests and up the stairs to their desks. Then he paused briefly as he caught Johnson in his sight. The kid sat behind his rough-hewn wood desk, bruises on his face and blood on his shirt. Harvey found himself relieved to see that while his partner's face was swollen and his lip was split, it was nothing that an ice pack and a week's time wouldn't clear up.

Johnson pushed himself up to his feet, and Harvey demanded, "What the hell happened?"

"They busted into her place and went apeshit. I didn't stick around to see how bad it got, but it was four against one. They had to have left one hell of a mess in there."

Harvey shook his head, aggravated. "I know that part." He bore down and bellowed into the kid's face. "Don't you -ever- stand in the way of somethin' like that again! Why the hell did you go and do a fool thing like that?"

Johnson met his stare and said with boyish defiance, "Because fuck those guys. That's why."

Watching the kid, his mouth fell into a grim line. "Do yourself a favor and take some advice. Don't go making any more statements with this thing." He found himself scanning the faces of the officers that walked all around them. The rest of the cops around this place were gonna turn on his partner after this, if they hadn't already. "There's only one golden rule in Gotham. No heroes. From here out, you don't make any more big moves. No without my say-so."

Johnson spoke in a somber tone of voice that up until now he wasn't sure he'd ever heard him use. "I hate to tell ya, Harv, but I think we're past that."

He growled out a semblance of words to himself. Then he turned his attention to more immediate matters. "I know you said Fuentes was behind this. Which asshats went with him?"

"Three guys from property crimes. Samuels, Mulloholland, and Grier." The low timbre of his voice growled, "Don't worry about putting the faces with the names. I got my licks in. You'll know 'em when you see 'em."

He'd seen Johnson in all manner of fist fights, and he had no doubt it was the truth.

Johnson continued, "What they did is gonna put us in a whole shitload of trouble."

And more than he bet his partner could comprehend. Looked like Fuentes was a little more patient than Harvey gave him credit for. He sent his message loud and clear. It went something like: 'If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me.'

Harvey opened his mouth to say something, who the hell knew what, something that hopefully would bring some order to their situation. Then he closed his mouth when he heard and then saw Captain Sarah Essen burst through the doors of the GCPD, not unlike he had moments prior.

She had her make-up on and her hair up, every professional layer in place. But despite her polished exterior, her eyes and expression held clear exhaustion. Apparently, Harvey hadn't been the only one woken up from a sound night's sleep.

Essen marched up to them and said in a blunt tone, "Detective Bullock, you and I need to have a word. Now."

Harvey shared an apprehensive glance with Johnson, and he followed her up the stairs to her office. Normally, he preferred to wait until Essen was in a halfway decent mood to talk about anything, but this situation left him no choice.

The second the door slammed shut behind them, Essen whirled around. Harvey felt his stomach turn. Looked like it was gonna be more than one word. "You need to tell me what the hell is going on and you need to tell me now."

"Look, Cap. It's a long story."

She said in an alarmed voice, "I just got word that four of my detectives raided Dimitri Codmolov's lieutenant's house."

He sucked in a breath. "Okay. Maybe it's not a long story."

She searched his eyes, looking for clues. "Why am I still not hearing you tell me that you had nothing to do with this?"

His shoulders went slack at the accusation. His answer was sullen and defensive. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly the type to bust in doors and kick the shit out of people when I'm off the clock."

She blinked once, twice. "Then if it wasn't you, who did this?"

He hesitated before he said, "Hand to God, I thought we were past all this Fuentes nonsense, but..."

Essen went wide-eyed. "But what?" she demanded. "But he engineered this behind your back? This is payback? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I thought wrong, okay?" he shouted at her.

As his Captain locked her eyes on his, she went very still. "Harvey, you are in deep trouble here. We're past the point where this can be fixed by a phone call or a favor."

Harvey shot back with increased sarcasm, "Yeah, well, it's a little bigger than I first anticipated."

"And now I hear that you hunted Codmolov down? That you tried to bring him in?" Her mouth parted open and she shook her head at him. "Just what the hell did you think you were doing?"

"What's it like look I'm doin'?! I've been on the hunt for this dirtbag for a year." He paused for emphasis. "A goddamn year. Nothin' I do, _nothing_ touches the guy!"

"And why do you think that is? Is it because no one but you understands that he's a threat? Or maybe it's because you're a chasing a man half the politicians in this city aren't looking to see behind prison bars."

The silence that followed grew thick.

Essen said, "I've warned you, Harvey. In every way I know how."

Harvey clenched his jaw, and his neck and ears warmed with anger. "I know I hit the guy without thinkin' in through. But look it, you gotta understand-"

"You didn't just hit this guy, Harvey," Essen spelled out for him. "You hit the chest cavity of the Russian Mob."

"I saw my chance," he argued. "And I took it. That's all I've done here."

"No, that's not all you've done here." When she spoke the words, she said them more softly. "You've drawn a line in the sand." She stepped forward and made him meet her eye. "You've drawn a line in the sand that I can't cross."

When Harvey didn't say anything, Essen raised her voice, "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Yeah, I get it." How many more ways could she explain to him how royally he'd fucked himself?

Essen shared with him, "The only reason I'm here now is because I got woken up by a call from Commissioner Loeb regarding this."

Harvey tried to keep himself under control. "How's he connected to this thing?"

She tilted her head and sent him a look, telling Harvey that by now he shouldn't have to ask rookie-level questions like that.

So this went all the way up to the Commissioner's level. His boss' boss. "And now what? He got wind of this, and now he's pissed off."

Essen corrected him, "This makes him nervous. That makes -me- nervous. You need to realize that you're no longer in control of this situation any more." She spoke directly, "You need to fix this."

Harvey closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face, feeling the onset of a crushing headache.

When he opened up his eyes, she took a step toward him. "You have to find a way to make this right. You have to find a way -fast-."

With that, Harvey left her presence and stalked back to his desk. He tried to reign in his fury and focus on what he could control. There were a metric ton of questions that needed answering, but only one that truly mattered at the moment. The question, and a pressing one, was what the hell to do next.

Johnson looked at him. He seemed to somehow hear the question in the ether. "Just tell me where to start, Harv, and I'll start there."

He pulled back and forced himself to address the problem one step at a time. "Get on the horn to any and every CI we've got. We need to get our fingers on the pulse of this thing."

His partner said, "You really think that's the best idea after all the shit that just went down?"

"No, I don't," he bit back. "But word of this is gonna spread like wildfire, if it hasn't already. We gotta get people to talk to us before they scatter like roaches under a spotlight." And if that upset Loeb's apple cart, well, that was just too damn bad.

Johnson didn't argue, and Harvey thanked God for small favors. His partner hunkered down and immediately put their contacts to work.

Standing there at his desk in the center of the chaos of his precinct, Harvey felt the rage grip him tightly in his face, his chest, his… His hand reached out. He yanked open the top drawer of his desk and grabbed up a fistful of dog-eared letters.

'You'll get what you deserve.'

'I will bury you.'

'Anyone can be gotten to.'

'Burn in hell.'

Harvey chucked the letters down and all but threw his chair into his desk. It slammed, wood against wood, echoing throughout the station.


	32. Psycho Killer

6 Years Prior

The morning sun beat down, strong even for Indian summer. A chilly breeze undercut that, swirling newspaper and debris across the street, reminding him that October was more than halfway through. With all the chaos that went down the night before, Essen still assigned them a new case at the crack-ass of dawn. You know, because Harvey wasn't already up to his neck in deep crazy. She saw the look on his face when she handed him the file and reminded him, "Murderers in this city don't care what kind of night we had." Essen included herself in the statement, which Harvey figured she said for his benefit. To let him know that though control over this situation had passed out of her hands, she hadn't cut ties with him in every respect.

Harvey ran his hand over his bleary eyes and his stubbled face while beside him Johnson smoked down the tail end of a cigarette. The kid had cleaned up his bruises to the best of his ability, but his face was still a hot mess. He would have said they were running on fumes, except in all honesty they weren't even running on that. Even though he was fresh out of brain juice, it didn't get in the way of him navigating through the deep recesses of the city. By now, he could steer himself through the streets of Gotham with his eyes closed.

They reached a back alleyway swarming with police personnel, which as usual, was where the day's problems began.

Johnson glanced at him. The kid looked much like Harvey felt. "You ready to do this?"

He spoke the obvious by saying, "Let's just get this the hell over with."

The officers who arrived on the scene put up not one but two layers of crime scene tape which Harvey thought was overkill. Or at least he did until he saw the crime scene in its full gruesome glory.

As he stepped under the yellow tape, he came upon the remains of their John Doe. The vic's arms and legs were twisted and pointed in wild, unnatural positions which made saying they were broken seem like a crude understatement. But that wasn't what killed the guy. The man's chest and face looked like they came out the end of a meat grinder. He was a stomach-turning real-life version of those guys who opened the ark of the covenant and didn't close their eyes.

Harvey caught the arm of one of the flatfoots and asked him, "We got any witnesses?"

The officer said, "We canvassed the place, and no one saw anything."

He sent him a look of disbelief. "Not one?" He glanced up and down at the windows in the brick walls of the alleyway. "Outta this whole complex?"

"I don't know what to tell ya, detective. No one's coming forward."

"That's great. Thanks a lot," he shot back in a clipped tone, confident the cop heard the 'for nothing' he left off. Harvey turned around, deciding not to waste any more time with a rookie who didn't know his ass from third base.

Ed Nygma suddenly appeared right inside his personal space. "Good morning, detectives," he chimed in.

Harvey jerked in place. "Crap, Ed! What the hell did I tell you about that?"

His smile dropped. "Not to sneak up on you… because it breaks a social boundary."

"No, you don't sneak up on people because it's creepy as all get out."

Ed looked both the detectives up and down and ventured. "...Coming in from a rough night?"

Harvey sighed. "Only so we can have these moments."

A long pause drew out between the three of them until Johnson cleared his throat. "What can you tell us, Ed?"

He consulted his clipboard. "No I.D. No cell phone. No wallet. My best guess is that it's mob-related due to the systematic way that the limbs were broken, one by one, and his last … ride was ultimately the cause of death. The marks on his ankles imply that he was tied up and dragged face-down on an asphalt street, most likely while attached to the back of a car or truck."

Johnson made a noise of discomfort. "Whoever this poor bastard was he pissed somebody the hell off."

Harvey said distractedly, "Say it twice." He was taking in the man's clothes, or what was left of them.

Ed's chattered on, "I placed the time of death at around 4:00 a.m., 4:30. The fact that they kept his body alive for as long as they did is… impressive. They broke his radius, elbow, and femur bones. But left the rest of his body unharmed. If they hadn't … attached him to the vehicle, they could have kept him alive for days or weeks. Or maybe longer. Probably if they had-"

"All right, we get it," Harvey interrupted, effectively shutting him up. "Whoever killed him is the Picasso of road rash."

Ed tilted his head upward in thought. "Picasso was more a surrealist. I think a more accurate comparison would be a Courbet or a Rembrandt-"

"Go away now, Ed," he roughly ordered.

Ed skittered backward as Harvey lost his temper, and though the lab geek inspired that reaction from him nearly every time they crossed paths, he began to realize the true cause of his anger. His thoughts dug through the back files of his mind, searching for something. He was beginning to piece this nasty little scene together, and not in any way he wanted.

Harvey focused on the vic's board shorts, and he felt a cold line draw itself up his spine. They were the same board shorts he wore to the baseball game, as he leaned up against the wall of the janitor's closet and slid the photograph into his wallet. Now that he looked more closely at the body, he could see a messy bun of graying blonde hair at the nape of what was left of his neck.

_Look, Harvey, I'm not sure you wanna get mixed up in this…_

Harvey took in a hard, bracing breath. "You can stop tryin' to I.D. the body."

Johnson frowned. "Why's that?"

"Because I know him. It's Lyle Jacoby."

Dread washed across his partner's face. "Your source."

He confirmed it with his silence.

Johnson muttered a, "Shit."

Harvey studied Lyle's remains, and he blinked as something caught his eye. He snapped on a pair of plastic gloves, bent down, and carefully lifted up a cream-colored envelope out of Lyle's back pocket. It looked remarkably like ones he'd seen before.

Johnson squatted down beside him, and he must have recognized the trademark, too, because he said, "You gotta be kiddin' me..."

He said through clenched teeth, "More fan mail."

As Harvey ripped open the envelope, Johnson said, "At least the fucker doesn't forget to write."

He lifted out a smooth piece of cardstock that read in familiar handwriting:

'Follow protocol.'

Harvey muttered a string of curses under his breath. Dimitri laid aside the sappy death threat love letters to make room for this next little mind-fuck, taking a cue from the DaVinci code and making his very own Dimitri code. Which meant that he was raising the bar from serial bomber to revenge artist extraordinaire. _Evolving_ as he had put it.

The note may as well have been written in Russian, the way Johnson frowned at it. "...What is it with all the freakin' hand-written letters? You'd think this was Victorian England."

Harvey stood up and raised his voice. "ED! Get back over here."

From the other side of the alleyway, Ed perked up and hurried over. He looked at Harvey uncertainly, "...Is there some way I can be of assistance, detective?"

"Yeah." He presented the letter. "Assist this. You're the one who's freaky good with puzzles. What're we lookin' at here?"

Ed accepted the note, unable or unwilling to hide his glee. It always made Harvey's blood pressure kick up watching shit like this get the idiot savante's rocks off. But then, quite suddenly, the excitement sapped away from Ed's face. Harvey could see his mind working behind his eyes. "Follow protocol." He looked at Harvey, speaking crisply and quickly. "Using the word 'follow' would inherently mean that he's leaving you a trail of breadcrumbs, pointing you in the direction of his next move. 'Protocol' would refer back to his modus operandi. The way in which he typically operates." Ed handed back the letter. "This implies you need to use the context he's already given you to follow his plan to its next location."

It got Harvey's wheels and turbines turning. He recalled his and Dimitri's cozy little conversation in the hotel restaurant, and he spoke the words as soon as he had them. "He said 'even for this there's protocol…'" He felt his stomach drop. "He means his family. Lyle's got a wife and two girls."

Johnson visibly tensed. He looked down at Lyle's body and then back up to Harvey. "If he's making them his next target, we gotta find them. Like now."

Harvey said, "Last time we talked, Lyle said something about his girls being able to go to the same school."

Johnson began thinking out loud, trying to figure out what Dimitri's next move could possibly be, but Harvey only half-heard him. He stared down at the letter in his hand, and he frowned anew, as he noticed something he hadn't seen at first. He reached down and pulled out a second piece of cardstock from inside the envelope.

It read simply:

'Boom.'

He breathed out, "Holy wheel-chairing Jesus."

Johnson gaped at the second letter before he said, " … Well, we freakin' know what that one means."

With all the pipe bombs, parcel bombs, cherry bombs, and time bombs crowding up Dimitri's criminal resume, Harvey easily had the thought, _How very fucking true_. He also knew what else this meant. Whatever was about to happen, it was a safe bet that they'd be right in the center of it.

He headed out of the alleyway, saying to Johnson. "Call up Gotham County Middle School. Evacuate the entire building and tell them to get Gabriella and Kaylee Jacoby into police custody. Then we gotta send out officers to find his wife, Nikki. Get her a police escort, protection, whatever she needs."

As his partner got on his cell phone, Harvey stared down at the remains of Lyle Jacoby, the man who gave him Dimitri's location when he needed it most and paid for it with his life. The full guilt of the situation fell upon him like a boulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. For Lyle, it was over. But as for his wife and kids, there was still a chance.

Harvey had a singular thought. _I'm gonna get the bastard that did this to you_. I promise. When he turned his back on Lyle, he suddenly had the same feeling he got when he forgot his cell phone or wallet, the feeling as though he'd left something behind.

Johnson stepped up to him. "All right, the school evacuation's in progress, and a squad car's on its way to his wife's place. Let's move."

Harvey nodded to him. Then he whirled around, calling out, "ED!"

Ed flinched from a few feet away. "I'm sorry, detective. Did I-"

Harvey ran up and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Ed. I ever tell you you're a goddamn genius?"

He looked at him with surprised gratitude as Harvey took off with Johnson for the squad car.

The second they climbed inside, Harvey started up the car and flipped on the siren. He immediately got on the radio, "Calling a code red. Requesting any and all available backup. All units proceed to Gotham County Middle School. 10-79. I repeat, I have 10-79, possible 10-80. If you can get there, get there. Over."

Urgency all but radiated off of him as the radio crackled to life with officers immediately responding to the call. He gunned the engine and peeled off towards the highway.

Dimitri was fast becoming public enemy number one. But right now time was the real enemy.


	33. Tick Tick Boom

(x)

6 Years Prior

Harvey slammed on the brakes, bringing the squad car to a squealing halt just outside the front door of Gotham County Middle School. The minute they parked, he and Johnson darted out from the car. All around them outside, teachers ushered wide-eyed terrified tweens into long, panicked lines. The middle school stood on the North end of the Gotham River. Harvey surveyed the area, a dark frown clouding his face. Between the busy intersection behind them and the riverwalk in front of them, no area existed with enough room for an evacuation of this magnitude. Harvey didn't know who ultimately made the decision for the school to be positioned this close to the main stem of the river, but he bet his boots that the decision had been made at 5 'o clock on a Friday.

The staff did the best they could, corralling the kids into the soft grass of the courtyard. They worked to put as much distance between themselves and the building as possible, no doubt as per their emergency training. Thankfully, officers on the beat reached the scene, responding to Harvey's emergency radio call, and got on top of assisting in the school's evacuation process. As for Johnson and Harvey, they took off in opposite directions. His partner checked in with the flatfoots while he stalked toward the glass doors of the school.

The air carried a strong breeze off the water (part fog, part fish, part wind) as well as the sharp warble of approaching emergency vehicles. Without a definite lock on the location of Lyle's wife, the GCPD had to spread their resources across the city. That meant the sirens in the distance might not even be headed his way. In the meantime, the bomb squad with the bomb-disabling robots and dogs with the educated noses still had yet to leave the station.

As soon as Harvey entered through the front door and flashed his badge, he was met by the school's head of maintenance, a short African-American man sporting a barely-there mustache. His name-tag said 'Louis'. He held out a thin, dog-eared paper floor plan for Harvey. Louis said, "I wanted to hang back and make sure you boys had this."

He accepted the map of the school's layout and hurriedly looked it over. He glanced back up at the maintenance man with clear gratitude. Louis was acting far and beyond the requirements of his role even staying there in the building with him.

Johnson rushed up to them and came to a stop as he reached Harvey. "They found Gaby and Kaylee. The officers outside aren't letting them out of sight."

Harvey felt his chest tighten with guilt. The girls who still didn't know their father had been found dead in an alley that morning. "Any word on Nikki?"

"They're still lookin' for her. She's not answering her phone. They sent a couple cars to her house, but no dice."

His brow furrowed as that sent a fresh bolt of dread coursing through him. He knew too much not to know that this was suspect. He blinked the thought away and got back to the blueprint. He said mostly to himself, "We gotta nail down a starting point."

Johnson said, "You wanna get a team together? Do a sweep of this place?"

He shook his head. In case the kid hadn't noticed, the school was a big fucking building. They didn't have the time or manpower to run a fine-tooth comb through every room, every airduct, every crevice. If Harvey knew Dimitri, and by this point he knew him better than he did some of his own relatives, he wouldn't be so generous as to afford them that much time. Maximum damage was this bastard's motivation du jour.

Harvey asked Louis, "You been working at the school long?"

"Past ten years," he answered.

"Let's say a fire started or a hurricane rolled through this place. What's your nightmare scenario? What's the worst place in here for a fire or an explosion to break out?"

Louis rubbed his chin in thought as he studied the print-out. Then his eyes went wide as saucers. He pointed his finger down onto one particular box in the layout and looked to Harvey meaningfully.

Harvey and Johnson hurried through the empty halls of the school and down the steps into the boiler room in the basement. The room contained a high-end furnace, a massive amount of equipment, and several fat pressure-vessel drums. The moment he laid eyes on the room, he was hit by an unwelcome wave of understanding. Drums like that held natural gas, and they were no doubt filled to the brim due to autumn rolling in and summer rolling out. Harvey had hoped that since the boiler room was in the basement that it would be rarely visited or cleaned, potentially leaving them a path to where someone might have hidden an explosive. … But it looked like Louis took his job seriously, and they had no such luck.

Johnson stepped in front of him, drawn to a bright red label on the nearest gas tank. He read aloud, "Danger. Highly flammable. Keep away from heat, flame, or sparks." He hissed out, "Well, fuck."

Harvey pressed out a long sigh through his teeth. He stopped himself from saying, _Thanks for the update, Reading Rainbow_. And he realized this meant that they'd most likely found the right place.

They both began scanning the immediate vicinity. "Okay," Harvey breathed out. "Here's what we do. I want a preliminary check. Look for footprints, fingerprints, dirt from outside, anything to indicate somebody got into this room and had no business being here."

Johnson bent down and searched the ground floor while Harvey started at the top, investigating air ducts, window tops, and light fixtures. Only minutes later, Johnson looked over from the far corner of the room where he crouched on the ground, and Harvey's eye met his. They shared a look of deep unease.

They'd both found the same thing. Nothing.

Johnson shot up to his feet. "I don't like this," he announced.

On the other side of the room, he kept up his search. "Join the club."

Anxiety seeped into his partner's voice. "... We're spending a lot of time here, Harv. How do we even know a bomb's really in here? How do we know it's not outside in the courtyard or in another part of the building?"

_Because -I'm- not outside_ , Harvey thought with growing rage. _-I'm- not in another part of the building_.

Johnson's voice went up an octave. "How do we even know this isn't some kind of sidetrack from what he's really up to?"

Great, now Dimitri was in his partner's head, too. The kid was losing his shit, and they didn't have time for a case of the yips. But Harvey didn't let himself be distracted. This wasn't a fake-out or some clever ruse; that would put too much of a cramp in Dimitri's style. Even more importantly, something visceral, all guts and pure instinct at this point, told him they were exactly where Dimitri wanted them to be.

Johnson began to loudly lose his patience. "Am I talkin' to myself here?!"

Harvey said in a hard voice, "Hey! Get yourself the fuck under control. And while you're at it, shut up for a second and let me think." He turned away from his partner for just a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Deep down, he knew the kid was one hundred percent right. A decision had to be made on what to do next. The clock was ticking-

Harvey suddenly frowned and felt his mind go quiet. Closing his eyes caused him to pay closer attention to the sounds of the boiler room. The rattle of the furnace. The hum of overhead florescent lights. He kept his eyes shut and listened carefully. Until…

Johnson said, "I don't know, Harv. Somethin' ain't right. I keep feeling like we're missing someth-"

"You hear that?" he said. Johnson froze in place. Conversely, Harvey moved forward, as if pulled by some invisible current, toward a low, soft ticking.

Harvey crossed over to the far left corner of the room. He looked up at the ceiling tiles, to find one tile just slightly askew, as if someone moved it and didn't quite put it back where they…

He said to Johnson, "Get me a ladder."

In no time, Harvey climbed up the steps of the nearest maintenance ladder. Once at the top, he gently pushed aside the thin, flimsy tile to look up into the hidden framework of piping, wiring, and ductwork. Then he saw it, placed right where the gridwork of metal suspension crossed. Green-gray bricks of explosives were taped together, (Harvey heard himself think 'no bigger than a breadbox'.) with a detonator and a digital clock attached to the top. Red light from the clock bloomed upon Harvey's face as he watched the time tick down in a sickening quick pace, counting down each second. 9:01, 9:00, 8:59.

From downstairs, Johnson saw it too. He immediately said, "Shit. Shit, when's the bomb squad gonna get here?"

"Not soon enough," Harvey said, sounding much more calm than he actually felt. He figured this was probably the _plastique stuff_ , the C-4 Dimitri'd grown oh-so-fond of cramming into his little time-bombs. In the movies, they always seemed pretty stable, but Harvey wasn't exactly keen on putting all his trust in the annals of Universal Pictures at the moment. Even a stable explosive might be remote-controlled from meters or streets or miles away. And just because a bomb was ticking down to zero didn't mean it wouldn't go off sooner.

"Uh..." Johnson drew out loudly and nervously. "We sorta need a plan here, Harv."

Sweat prickled Harvey's brow and rolled down the sides of his face as he looked all around at the walls of the boiler room. Talk about the perfect set-up for one nasty gas explosion. There was enough natural gas in the room to blow the school to kingdom come. That meant the bomb had a blast radius that he didn't even want to start to actually imagine. Even if he and Johnson ran, ran right now and got everyone in the yard to run with them they-

"Do you know how powerful that thing this is?!" His partner bellowed at him. "We need to move! Like now!"

Harvey turned to face his partner and when he did, he found himself looking upward to stare out the window directly across from them. He gazed upon the open water that spread out widely from the riverwalk. The nearby depths where the bay fed into the river than ran through Gotham City.

Johnson followed his gaze. Then his chest swelled and he stood up ramrod straight. "The water," he said aloud in realization. "That's it."

The absolute recklessness and the sudden instinct to bolt with bomb in hand was the definition of stupidity. More than stupid. Dangerous.

His partner repeated with urgency, "Harv, that's it. Let's do this."

Over top of Johnson's words, in the back of his mind, he could hear his last partner, Dix, warning him. _Gotham's golden rule, Harvey. No heroes._

Johnson snapped his fingers in front of his face, rousing Harvey back to the present. "Look at me, jackass! We gotta move! Now!"

At that, Harvey snapped out it. His jaw tightened, and he turned back to the bomb ticking down. 7:30, 7:29, 7:28. He didn't think about how even just moving a bomb could make it explode. He didn't think about how, until Dimitri, C-4 only ever seemed to show up in Stalone films. All he thought about was how his partner's and his first instinct felt right and how this was their one shot to end this.

Harvey pressed his hands gingerly against each side of the bomb and lifted it up … and he still stood on two legs, still breathing. Galvanized by the fact, he stepped down from the ladder, holding the bricks of C-4 as if they were as fragile as a ming vase. He said to his partner, "Clear a path. Get the civilians as far away from this thing as they can get." He all but yelled, _"GO! NOW!"_

That was all the motivation Johnson needed. He dashed up the stairs and took off down the hallway, as if all the demons of hell were in hot pursuit. Harvey followed his partner's lead, falling into a hard run. He felt sweat pouring from every pore in his body. Anxious was too mild a word for what he was experiencing. His nerves were on fire inside his skin. In the midst of that, he tucked the bomb underneath his arm, and he chased after his partner. The second he cleared the doors, he burned a path through the courtyard and started for the open water, jogging, then running, and then sprinting full out.

Harvey had only had one experience even remotely similar to this. A memory bubbled up, of his own time in school, running across neatly-clipped bright green grass just like this. It was the last game of the season in his senior year. The game pitted his high school team against their rivals, the Metropolis Sharks. The Sharks outplayed them in the first half, until a frenzied final two minutes where his team made a comeback, tying up the score. In the fourth quarter, his team put a go-ahead drive into play with only three minutes left in the game, a risky strategy that had just around zero chance of paying off. Harvey'd been running defense, and when the Shark's quarterback threw the ball, he'd bulldozed into the intended recipient and intercepted. He tucked the ball underneath his arm, bolted for the endzone, and single-handedly changed the outcome of the game. The touchdown had been all instincts, adrenaline, and the singular ability to hold on.

That same event was being super-imposed on him now. His heart trip-hammered in his chest, in terrifying sync with the each tick of the bomb. He rushed forward so fast that he almost crashed right into the metal bars of the riverwalk barrier, separating the sidewalk from the waters below. But he skidded in place, coming to a clumsy stop at the last second. In one smooth movement, Harvey lifted up the bricks of C-4 in his right hand, hauled back, and catapulted the bomb up into the air with all his might. He sent the bomb sailing in an arc, not unlike he might have a football in high school, and watched it make its smooth, inevitable descent.

Or he would have, if Johnson hadn't come up, yanked him backward by the arm, and pulled him into a furious run back the way they came. Behind him, Harvey heard a small but crisp 'slap' of the C-4 dropping into the choppy waves of the river. His legs pumped back into a sprint, his feet hitting the dirt. Then an earth-quaking blast shook the ground beneath him and a rush of force blew past them, taking the legs right out from under him in a fan of wind. Harvey hit the dirt alongside his partner with a resounding 'thud' that knocked the wind right out of him.

It took him a minute, but Harvey gave a soft grunt and rolled over onto his back in the dirt. He huffed and wheezed, holding his hand against his chest. He glanced over to see his partner making damn near the exact same movements. The cobalt blue sky above them stared back innocently, clean and clear, free of any fire or debris.

Harvey got out, "You all right, kid?"

Johnson looked for a moment like he might be having a panic attack. That's the way it went. You were fine in the moment of danger, but the minute it passed the resulting anxiety hit like a Mack Truck. It was the closest thing, besides the triple cheeseburger with a donut bun they sold downtown, Harvey ever felt to having a heart attack.

The kid's voice shook. "Me? I'm fine. But -you- are one magnificent, BATSHIT INSANE motherfucker."

"Thought I was a jackass."

"I take it back. You're my new good luck charm," he said. "I am never leaving home without your ass."

Harvey pressed out a sudden laugh. The kid didn't even know how right he was. They had gotten off lucky. _Very_ lucky.

"And what in holy hell was -that- with the perfect spiral back there? Did you train with Tom Brady or did you settle for Dan Marino?"

"I got Brady's arm and his looks," Harvey said, falling into autopilot. "Still workin' on getting his paycheck."

"Ask Essen for a raise when you get back. You might get it."

"I'll more likely get myself a suspension with the dumbass move I just made."

"What the fuck ever. That bomb exploded with enough force to blow down half the building."

He looked over at him. "Thanks for the assist back there, by the way."

His partner lightly smacked his shoulder. "Hey, somebody's gotta ride shotgun, snap you outta deep trances, and keep your ass on point." He shrugged. "I mean, call me crazy but-"

"You're crazy," he interjected.

The kid laughed at that and coughed on the dirt the explosion of wind kicked up.

Slowly but surely, Harvey's ears picked out the nearby cheers of the middle school kids, teachers, and staff from behind them. Though appreciative of the applause, he just laid back in the dirt, still not ready to move.

Johnson sat up, and he must have overheard their fans, too. "What's all that baloney you always yap about? No heroes? No dumb cowboy stuff? All that shit?"

Harvey struggled into a sitting position. It took him two tries before he made it. He reached over, lifted his hat off the ground, and fit it back onto his head. "I think that rule goes by the boards when you have a time-bomb ticking down to zero."

He said, "'Guess now we'll both be alive for Essen to give us major shit about this."

Harvey watched his partner climb easily up to his feet and envied him of it.

Johnson added as an afterthought, "Though I think I'll take a lecture about what dipshits we are over getting exploded into a couple hundred bits and pieces."

"Any day of the week," Harvey agreed.

Johnson offered him a hand, and Harvey accepted it. He stood, bent over, his hands clasping his knees. That sort of 100-yard dash might be a daily staple in Johnson's exercise regime, but Harvey couldn't remember the last time he ran after anything besides the ice cream truck. His lungs ached for air, and his muscles throbbed from the exertion. Eventually, with a muttering groan, he hauled himself up fully.

They took a moment, getting their wind back and gazing off into the not-too-distant crowd of grateful middle school students and staff. When Johnson grinned at him, Harvey dug up a rare but genuine smile.

Harvey grabbed him by the shoulder. "You did all right, kid."

"No so bad yourself, old timer."

His straightened his hat. "Stick around. Y'aint seen nothin' yet. I got more moves where that came from-"

Harvey stopped as his words were cut off by a soft but resounding boom that echoed from far off across the city. Both he and Johnson snapped their attention to the low white clouds hanging in the blue morning sky. Miles away from where they stood, a single deep black plume of smoke shot up into the horizon.

The rest of the crowd turned in response, and a low buzz broke through the masses. Slowly, their voices became louder and gasps and short screams of surprise reached his ears.

He could only stand by and watch as smoke curled upward above Gotham, creating a dark tower of soot rising up into the air.

Johnson eyes and his voice took on intense disbelief. He blinked, saying, "Harv… What…?"

Harvey watched the confusion and fear sweep over the crowd of students and teachers. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened, when his cell phone rang loudly at his side.

He picked it up, his lips curiously cold. His voice sounded unreal. "Bullock."

"Harvey." It was Sarah Essen. "There's … been a development. An explosion just took place in Robinson Park."

Harvey tried to speak, but his throat was as dry as cotton.

She said, "We don't know what the body count is yet. All we know is that a bomb went off inside the park's community center." She paused. She seemed to be working up to something. There was a slight tremor in her voice when she said, "We just got word that Lyle Jacoby's wife, Nikki, started working there two days ago."


	34. The Day the World Went Away

6 Years Prior

Harvey drove his squad car over the grassy fields of the city park until he rolled right up to the smoking, crumbling rubble of Robinson Community Center. The explosion decimated the red brick building, burning the center from the inside out. The bomb site was surrounded by tangles of emergency vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances. A fireman held and pointed a heavy hose at the building, sending sheets of water cascading down upon the fire that had yet to be put out. The crackling sound of the flames popped like firecrackers going off in a box. All around them, men and women in blue and gray cop and paramedic uniforms threaded through the area.

Harvey and Johnson both stepped out of the car and stood, leaving the car doors open, their eyes locked on the scene unfolding before them.

A couple minutes passed by, and everything happened at once in that confusing, overlapping, chaotic way emergency situations only ever seemed to develop. Blue and red revolving lights flashed across the grass, the cars, and the crumbled building. A woman's scream pierced the air, a sharp, wailing type that can only be brought on by bodily trauma, along with the sirens and blaze of the fire. Harvey looked to the right to see that Johnson had pushed his hands up through his hair and folded his hands to rest on top of his head, with his eyes locked forward.

Sirens were approaching, and Harvey glanced behind him. He couldn't tell exactly how many they rolled deep heading up to the site of the bombed community center, but there were at least ten more police cars now parked behind theirs. The whole time constant static and urgent chatter spilled from the radio mounted on his dash.

His heart pounded inside his chest, and his breathing became heavy. He stared, in what he'd realize later was shock, at the sprawling aftermath of the explosion.

That's why he had that nagging, needling feeling that he'd forgotten something important back at the crime scene. That's why Johnson kept saying he felt like they were missing the mark. That's why there wasn't one, but two letters stuffed inside the envelope they found in the back pocket of Lyle's board shorts.

It was so fucked. How Dimitri destroyed Lyle, a simple, free man who risked his life trying to help bring in a wanted criminal off the streets. But he didn't just destroy Lyle. He went after every member of his immediate family, every student and teacher who attended his girls' school, and every man, woman, and child who happened to be inside Robinson Community Center. He set bombs to go off in places where children and families went to learn, to be cared for, to feel safe.

This had been Dimitri's plan, and that alone would have been nasty enough. But underneath that, he'd had an additional, more devious end goal in mind. He'd played Harvey. And for what? A sucker, of course. He'd sidetracked him intentionally, placing his bet that Harvey would be able to maybe stop one bomb but not two. It wrought up a burning swell of anger in his chest as he happened upon the idea that Dimitri had assessed him accurately.

It was so absolutely, fully, and completely fucked.

With that, Harvey felt and heard himself draw in a deep, shuddering breath. Then he deliberately marshaled his thoughts. He walked around the car to Johnson, and he put a hand on his partner's forearm, jolting him back to the present. "C'mon. They need our help."

Johnson nodded in the midst of whatever emotion he felt, and together they descended the hill, down into the state of emergency taking place.

The looming chaos assaulted Harvey's senses from all sides. The burned and dismembered bodies on the ground, the civilians who were still alive but who had lost legs, arms, or worse. The high sour stench of charred flesh, seared wood, and sooted brick, and the lingering odor of burnt oil. (He learned from the officers on the ground that the bomb had been placed in the boiler room of this building, too, next to drums of propane gas.) He and his partner jumped into action, tending to victims, helping paramedics, talking to whoever could reasonably talk back, comforting them and aiding them as best they could. Most of the victims were adults, but some of them were children. Harvey had never been to war, but he had a inkling that this was at least one part of the combat experience.

And just like a soldier in the midst of warfare, he did what he had to do. He shut down all parts of himself, except the part that could attend to those around him. He steered his thoughts into an orderly fashion, responding quickly and with practiced movements to any and all crisis. All throughout, he did his very best to make his mind disappear.

Hours later, when all the survivors had been taken to the hospital and all the dead had been transported to various morgues all across the city, he did some basic math.

Forty-eight injured.

Ninety-seven dead.

That brought Dimitri's death toll up to one-hundred and thirty-six casualties. At the end of the day it was alarmingly simple. All it took was for one smooth-talking, sharp-dressed maniac to come along with a couple million dollars in bankroll, a head full of loose screws, and a warehouse of explosives. Harvey wondered if this event marked the end of this sleazeball's coming 'transition' and immediately dismissed the very idea. Something told him that this was just the beginning.

As Harvey stepped out of the center of ground zero and back onto the lawn, he gazed out upon the remaining police and emergency vehicles. It took a little while, but the media arrived just in time for the party. There were no fewer than six tv news' vans parked just outside the crime scene tape.

He traipsed forward, trying not to be in a daze and helpless but to be in one. He headed up toward the neatly dressed, made-up reporters holding their microphones. But he wasn't looking to talk to any of them. He came to a stop and waited, watching Captain Sarah Essen address the city via satellite.

She spoke swiftly and strongly, assuring the people of Gotham that they were doing everything in their power to clean up this mess and bring the criminals responsible to justice. Harvey had a hard time not sneering. Now. Only now had his Captain been given the go-ahead by Loeb to become involved in this draw-out, on-going, been-happening-for-a-whole-goddamn-year nightmare situation. How high did the body count need to be? The question was no longer rhetorical. The body count had to be 136. That was the number.

Eventually, the microphones dropped and the cameras moved aside. Sarah Essen turned away from the media, and all too quickly her eyes met Harvey's. She sent him a wavering look of exhaustion. Harvey stepped forward, and together they met by his squad car.

She looked at him for what felt like a long time. Then she spoke to him with deep respect. "You did the best anyone could, Harvey. No one can ask any more from you than that."

Bitter remarks crowded up inside his head. His jaw tightened as he decided against speaking any of them aloud.

Essen pressed her lips together. "You stopped one bomb today and saved hundreds of lives. And as for this …" She shook her head. "You tried-"

"Trying doesn't help me sleep at night," he said.

She frowned at his response. Moments passed, and she glanced behind him. "Where's Johnson?"

"Still inside."

She let that hang, and then said, "I've called them, trying to get an answer to this."

"Who?"

"Everyone."

Harvey's voice held a dangerous edge. "Any other parties vaguely concerned about stopping this psychopath and any further mass murders he's got in store for Project Doomsday?"

Essen's gaze fell from his. She swallowed backward and said nothing.

"Still?" Harvey pressed out the word. "You _still_ don't have the green light to bring him down?"

Her face clouded over. "Watch it, Harvey. I am doing _everything_ I can with _every_ resource I've got."

He leaned in dismissively, hissing out, "We lost nearly a hundred civilians today and no one blinks an eye. What the fuck's got to happen? Does this monster have to burn the whole fuckin' city down for Loeb to take some fuckin' interest?"

Essen whispered harshly, annunciating each other. "You don't speak his name here." She looked out of the corner of her eye back at the cameras and microphones that were still live a few yards away. Her voice held a warning. "You have to start seeing yourself the way the higher-ups of this city see you, Harvey. As a common denominator. And you have to ask yourself - what's easier for them? To take down Dimitri Codmolov… or to take down you?"

He felt his remaining energy drain out of him. His anger was still alive and well, but the energy he had to express it faded away. Thirty-six hours awake, finding Lyle, disabling one bomb, cleaning up the aftermath of the second, and now hearing that when the chips were down, the powers that be were more than fine with flipping the script. That now -he- was the one at the top of the hit-list in the eyes of Commissioner Loeb, not Dimitri. How the fuck was he supposed to feel?

Harvey tried to make himself speak forcefully and only got halfway there. "You can give me all the excuses in the book. But at the end of the day, you've still got power here."

Essen rounded on him. "What would you have me to do, Harvey? Go rogue? Because I don't see how that keeps all three of us - you, me, and Pickering - present and accounted for." At the mention of his partner's name, Harvey's entire face tensed. She responded to his stare, widening her eyes, furthering her point. "You need to realize that the only reason the three of us are here right now is because I am still here fighting for you."

Harvey looked away from her, both disgusted and painfully aware of how true her words were. The silence between them grew oppressive like pressure on the ocean floor. That was when Harvey realized that he had nothing more to say to her, nothing except… "Do you have the list?"

Her face fell into a worried frown, letting him see that he wasn't alone in experiencing the abject pain of the disaster that took place. She spoke gently, "We have other officers for that-"

"Do you have the list?" His words were an iceberg.

She stared at him for a long time. Then she walked away, back to where she'd left her briefcase. When she returned, she handed him four stapled pieces of paper. Harvey took them from her and turned away. Normally, he pulled every trick in the book to avoid making next-of-kin calls. But this was different.

He stared down at the paper, and he saw that Nikki Jacoby was the first name on the page. There it was in black and white. The kids were hereby orphaned and emotionally destroyed forever. Suddenly, he knew that he'd make sure that he was the one to tell Gaby and Kaylee in person.

He stalked back down the hill toward the bricks walls, debris, and the cloud of smoke Dimitri left in his wake. He saw Johnson standing off to the side, his face slack, a lit cigarette in his hand.

Harvey joined him, and they stood side by side, watching police cars back up on the park lawn and drive past the roadblocks into the street. He stared up at the sun high up in the sky, looked down at his watch, and could hardly believe that it was only two in the afternoon.

He reached over and gently squeezed his partner's shoulder. "You were a soldier today." Johnson looked up at him, and he added, "You did the badge proud."

Johnson simply nodded and put out his cigarette under his boot.

Harvey said, "C'mon. I'll take you home."

He frowned at him. "What?"

He spoke with absolute authority. "You've been up and running for two, close to three, days by my count. You need to get yourself home."

His intimidating voice didn't work on his partner like it usually did. Johnson looked down at sheets of printer paper in Harvey's hand. "Is that it?"

Harvey shook his head in response, because his partner already knew what they were.

Johnson said, "Give me my half."

"You've done enough with this-"

"Just," he said through his teeth. "Give me my half."

Harvey studied Johnson, and with a short, curt nod, he reached down and plucked the back two pages free from the staple.

Johnson took the papers out of Harvey's hand and started walking. Harvey followed after the kid, and together they headed back down to the squad car.

(x)

After personally seeing Kaylee and Gaby safely off to their grandmother's, Harvey assigned two officers to stay on protection detail. Additionally, he told the flatfoots to get comfortable and to consider the Jacoby residence their current address until further notice. He didn't have to impress upon them the gravity of their assignment. Though things weren't exactly aces between him and Essen, some part of her hated this as much as he did, and he was certain that she'd taken steps to make that emphatically clear.

He returned to the precinct and looked down at his and Johnson's lists of casualties. Each name had been crossed out in ink. Harvey had seen his partner off about an hour ago. Johnson had wanted to come with him to the girls' grandmother's house, but Harvey was finding that the more exhausted his partner became, the easier it was to talk him out of taking part in things that in truth neither of them wanted to do.

Now, standing at his desk in the GCPD, Harvey looked down at his cell phone. He'd missed two calls.

He hit her name and dialed her office number.

She picked up immediately. Her concerned voice came through. "Are you okay?"

Madeline must have recognized it as an outside line and laid odds that it was him, mostly likely due to the fact that it was after seven in the evening. He sat down in his desk chair. "I've got things to the point where I can leave for the night." He glanced around and gave his disclaimer out of pure habit, "I think."

He hadn't answered her question, not at all, but for once, she seemed to be letting it go. "Wilson offered to give me a ride. I'll head right home."

"No," he said softly. "Stay put. I'll pick you up."

She hesitated and then deferred to him. "Okay."

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he stared down into the wood-grain of his desk. "Think Wilson'd be up for keeping you company 'til I get there?"

He heard a hint of a smile in her voice. "I think I might be able to talk him into it."

It was a recurring joke between them. Harvey caught on better than a year ago, well before Madeline had, of course. He recognized it for what it was, a harmless schoolyard crush. He also knew that level of fondness inspired a brand of protection money couldn't buy. Harvey shook Wilson Bishop's hand every time he saw him. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"I'll see you when you get here."


	35. Look After You

6 Years Prior

Madeline headed quickly down the steps of Blackgate to where Harvey stood outside by his car. When she reached him, she held him tightly, with hands so gentle that he had to close his eyes. The way she relaxed herself into him only further amplified how relaxed he was not. He moved slightly, but stiffly, as if his body were made of wires.

When she pulled away, her face settled into a frown as she looked him over. Harvey thought he knew what she saw. The soot and dirt in his hair. His hands, cracked and coarse and dirty. His sweaty, wrinkled work shirt stained with blood, none of it his. His five 'o clock shadow and the tension lines in his face. His eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot from the lack of sleep and smoke from the fire.

Madeline swallowed reflexively. She grabbed him into a hard embrace, even more fiercely. He stared forward and the world went out of focus. She'd gazed too long into his eyes. Whatever she'd seen there made her look away.

She didn't ask any questions then, and she didn't ask any questions on the car ride either. For this he was overwhelmingly grateful. Too much had happened and he was too drained to fake normal. She held his hand in her lap as they drove home, removing her hand from his only once to change the radio station when the disc jockey started reporting on the explosion.

Once they reached their apartment, the full weight of his exhaustion crashed down on him. Harvey stood in the living room, feeling light-headed. He'd spent all day in a harrowing state of continuous action. Now when it was quiet, when no critical decisions needed to be made, he felt paralyzed. He had no idea where to go or what to do next.

At that moment, Madeline snagged his hand in hers. She led him back towards the bedroom. Harvey would have stopped there, but she pulled him further up to the doorway of the bathroom. She walked in, flicked on the light, and got the shower going. When she turned back around, he stood there in a daze, just looking at her. She calmly looked back, saying, "C'mon. You need to wash up."

Harvey was too tired to do anything but follow her instruction. He worked on undressing himself, but his aching arms, legs, and back made it painful work. Then, she moved right up against him and murmured, "Here. I got it." Before he knew what was happening, she had his belt unbuckled. There wasn't anything particularly sexual about it though. She helped him, gently, like she might a child. As she got him undressed, he could smell her hand lotion, oranges and vanilla.

Madeline stepped away only to set down a towel on the edge of the sink. Then she kissed him on the cheek. "Go on. Hop in the shower. I'll get dinner going."

Harvey stepped over the edge of the tub and put his head under the stream of water. He closed his eyes, letting the hot water run over his tense and sore muscles. When he opened his eyes, he still saw the dirt and grime and blood still on his hands and shuddered. In less than a minute, he was up to his elbows in suds.

When he finished up, he put on a fresh t-shirt and boxers and trudged on still-aching legs back to the kitchen. Madeline stood at the sink, upending a pot of steaming pasta into the strainer, and Harvey caught a whiff of the tomatoes, onions, peppers, and zucchini in the frying pan. He realized suddenly that he hadn't eaten since early that morning and his stomach demurred loudly.

Madeline declared often that there were trained seals who were better chefs than she was. It sort of gave him a kick that he wound up moving in with a woman who had little to no interest in cooking. What he always figured would be a non-negotiable deal breaker turned out not to be one in the least. Despite her self-deprecating comments, Harvey usually liked what she did make and said as much. She'd been figuring out barebones recipes here and there lately. He knew it was done mostly for his sake. It was just one more way she hustled for him.

At the stove, she mixed the tomato sauce, vegetables, and pasta all together and brought him over a family-sized serving. He thanked her and demolished it in a matter of minutes. Apparently chasing after a freak show and cleaning up his warpath burned a lot of calories.

Madeline put on some soft music, one of her Lilith Fair singer/songwriters that he could never keep straight because they all sounded the same to him, and dug into her own dinner. When they finished, she went to clear the dishes, and Harvey felt something pull inside his chest.

He stood up and gently squeezed her shoulders, "Go relax. I'll clean up."

She shook her head. "No, you need to take it easy-"

"Please." The single spoken word gave her pause. "Let me get this."

She touched his cheek with her hand and walked past him. "I'll be in the bedroom."

He stacked the dishes, saying, "Be there in a sec."

Harvey methodically washed and dried the dishes. Because when you're doing an activity to get your mind off wild and crazy chaos, you might as well commit. It helped to have something to do. He realized that he wasn't thinking, and that it was a good kind of not thinking. His body had burned through every ounce of energy he had on reserve, and it hadn't been replaced. He knew everything, all of it, every event of the day was still there waiting to be processed, just behind the flapping curtains inside his mind. He knew it couldn't be kept at bay for much longer.

Once he wrapped up the leftovers and the kitchen was up to standard, he padded back to the bedroom. He heard the soft din of the television, and he cleared the doorway just in time to see Madeline pointing the remote and turning it off. She'd been lying on her stomach, the tops of her feet resting on her pillow, and she slowly flipped back around.

Harvey joined her in bed and folded her into his arms. Despite everything that was going on his life right now, he recognized how good it felt to sink against her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

Lying there holding her, he frowned to himself just slightly. He still sensed that something between them wasn't quite adding up.

She wasn't asking him any questions.

It was weird.

Why wasn't she asking him any questions?

That sent the cogs in his mind circling, and it amped his brain back up. The thoughts that had been pushed to one side began to seep out. He thought of the bomb site, the sounds, the smell. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would blink the images away, but the action only seemed to encourage them further. He remembered in a full way how _certain_ he'd been that he'd stopped it. That the danger had passed. That moment of pure radiant relief when he laid there in the dirt, staring up at the sky, and how that made the crash back down just that much more painful.

Somewhere he knew he would never forget, never, the way the burnt, collapsed community center looked after the bomb had gone off. Harvey would have nightmares about it. Just like Dix falling, down, down, down and cracking his back on the floor below the stage. He still heard that snap sometimes in his sleep.

He'd responded to events fully and quickly as needed, no matter how chaotic, no matter how horrifying. But there'd been a quiet but persistent voice underneath the business of things. It was a voice he knew well and had heard many times before. It said, _You didn't stop it and a better man would have._

Her voice came out, a low but clear whisper. "It's not true."

He snapped his attention to her. She stared at him. "Whatever thoughts you're having, they're not true."

That's when Harvey felt the tears spill over. It started slow, with him clenching his eyes shut, hating himself for letting it happen. He went looking for a way to get control, but he had nothing left to hold it back. The realization that he was crying and couldn't stop it only made it worse. He choked out deep, wracking sobs that seemed to come from every cell in his body.

Harvey didn't think he'd ever cried while someone else was witness, not since he was very young. Madeline held onto him as he collapsed into her. Warm and solid and real.

She spoke against his ear, "It's okay, baby."

His words came out in a thick, ragged voice. "No, it's not. I didn't stop it."

"Yes, you did."

"I _didn't_."

"You saved hundreds of children's lives today. They would have been snuffed out, but you stopped it."

"I should have seen… It was right there." He said in a breaking voice, "I should have known what was going to happen."

She spoke gently but firmly. "You can't blame yourself for a decision made by a psychopath." Her voice dropped to a low, soothing tone. "-No one- did more to stop it than you. You're only human. If you could have done anything else, you would have."

"I wasn't…" He shook his head, sniffing back. "It wasn't enough."

"Look at me." She pulled back, and Harvey kept his eyes shut. He knew when he opened them she would be there, looking at him, looking through him with that stare that cut like a scalpel. When he finally blinked open his eyes, he looked back at her through the haze of his tears. "Don't ever say that. You are so much more than enough." She whispered, "And you always have been."

It was unreal to Harvey how some words could reach out and take the breath out of your lungs. His head flooded with pressure, and he had to close his eyes again. He'd spent all day, holding on, holding tight by just a thread.

Now she was there to catch him.

So he let go.

(x)

Madeline wrapped her arms around Harvey, as he broke and let out the grief and sorrow he'd held inside for so long. Who knew how long. Despite how regularly she poked and prodded him, there was so much she understood about why he didn't let himself cry or talk like this. Even though he always told her that sharing and opening up just wasn't his deal, she knew how much deeper it went. She understood better than anybody what an enormous amount of energy it took to hold back tears, and she knew why people didn't want to look at all the ugliness of the past. It only promised to bring back the intolerable.

She found herself profoundly relieved and grateful that she got to be there for him when it finally all became too much. Only now after making him feel safe could she help him care for the part that he didn't let her see. That he didn't let anyone see, least of all himself. Only now could she meet the scared, essentially fatherless child who grew up far too soon.

With her head burrowed against him, she heard his heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace and felt his chest rising and falling as his breathing became more rhythmic. Hopefully this would prove to him that a breakdown, even one of this magnitude, didn't last forever. That for better or worse, nothing lasted forever.

Harvey lifted his hand to clean his eyes of tears, sniffed back, and relaxed his embrace. She readjusted and rested her head against the pillow, so they were looking right at each other. His expression took her breath away. He didn't often let her see inside.

She was still thinking of what, if anything, she would say, when Harvey twined his hand through her hair and pulled her into a hard, needful kiss. Madeline closed her eyes as she returned the sentiment. She didn't know what Harvey'd been up to before he met her, but this man had learned a lot about kissing and what it took to do it right.

After they broke the kiss, to her surprise, he was the one who ended the long silence. "I don't know when I did it," he said in a low whisper.

"Did what?"

"Whatever I did that keeps you hangin' around here."

She hadn't expected that, or the easy sincerity of it. Now she was the one who couldn't stay with the intensity. "Just so you know, I do get something out of this whole arrangement myself."

"Yeah, I'm the only one who's tall enough to change the batteries in the smoke detector."

"That," she said, "and you're a good lay."

That got the real laugh, the one that sounded like smoke and whiskey.

They rested in each other arms for awhile. Then he asked, "How did you know?" When it became clear that she didn't quite understand what he meant, he clarified, "What I was thinking?"

She whispered, "Because I know you." And she knew by now what it looked like when someone was beating themselves up, him especially.

He interlocked his fingers with hers. "Also I'm guessin' you caught the news broadcast."

Madeline nodded. She'd heard about the explosion from one of the prisoners at the start of her second therapy session. Maybe at some point in the future she would be able to appreciate the irony, that thanks to the wide and extensive prison information network, inmates could know about current events before she did. When she turned on the TV, it didn't matter what channel she picked. The explosion was being covered by them all. Only then did she find out that the entire catastrophe had Harvey right at its center. "I saw you in the background," she said. "At the site. Then I heard about the first bomb. How you and Johnson stopped it." She didn't tell him how she felt the color drain from her face at the thought that he'd almost… that she'd almost...

He stared away for a long moment, looking tired and worn. "We still haven't caught the maniac who did this."

Madeline sunk just slightly. He was blaming himself again. "Whoever it is, you won't catch them until after you let yourself rest."

Harvey looked back at her, and she noticed something off in his stare. No, maybe … maybe he hadn't been blaming himself in that moment after all. She frowned, and he said, "There's some things I gotta take care of first. Before I can go after him."

Though she was unsurprised to hear that he knew who was behind it or at the very least had a strong suspicion, she began to understand the shift that had taken place. Harvey had never once talked to her about the details of any of his cases. She had her own ways of getting information - paying attention to notice boards, asking Johnson seemingly innocent questions when he was distracted, hanging around the station keeping a close ear and eye on what was said or not said - but never once had she received information straight from Harvey.

It she read him right, he seemed to be working up to something. It took him nearly a full minute before he said, "We gotta start talkin' about gettin' you out of the city. For a few days at least."

Madeline took in a deep but silent breath. Harvey was fond of the 'need to know' line. But it turned out he'd meant every word. When she was at risk, he would tell her. She squeezed his hand in hers and looked at him, marveling for a moment at what he'd managed to do just then. He was breaking all his rules, one by one. She knew the only reason he'd do such a thing.

He followed it up with, "Trust me, it ain't what I want."

She said, "But it's what you need."

He looked at her. "Yeah. Yeah, it's what we need."

She wasn't prepared for what happened next. She felt her tear ducts well up, and something caught in her throat. Whenever she'd imagined this moment (And with all the violence taking place around them, she imagined it quite a bit.), she never took the scenario to its next logical step. Where she'd have to actually leave him. And not just leave him, but leave him in a city where someone wanted him dead. Someone who killed almost a hundred men, women, and children in one fell swoop. It left her feeling as though there was a ton of bricks on her chest.

She gulped and hoped he didn't see her do it. "... What about you?"

He put his fingers underneath her chin and tilted her face up. "Don't worry 'bout me. I got this. It's you I'm worried about."

Of course, he'd say that. She gave him the smile she could manage, a wavering one. "This is the part where you promise me that you'll be careful and that you'll be okay."

"You got it," he said with conviction. "I'm steel." He nodded to her. "This is the part where you promise to talk me up to the parental units. So I'll have a fighting chance when they see you roll in with a pudgy, aging, Irish metermaid."

She hit him hard, because she hated it when he talked like that, and he made a dramatic noise as if she'd actually hurt him. "Well, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear I'm coming through town, and we'll have plenty of time to talk about you. And plenty of time for me to give them lots of free, unwelcome therapy." She nudged him. "But that doesn't mean you're off the hook. I'm still gonna be forcing you into deep psychoanalysis on the phone every day whether you like it or not."

He looked relieved and saddened at the same time. "Telephone ain't the same, no matter how many times you use it."

"Guess you'll have to wrap things up quick, so I can get back to harassing you in person."

He had a thought that amused him. "You'll have to let all your other boyfriends know that you'll be outta town."

"I work in a prison that smells like old gym socks and farts with a bunch of macho meatheads, run by a douchebag I'd like to airdrop to China. Then I come home and hang out with you and boy wonder, the numbskulls who think grace and civility are the strippers who work down at the Boobie Trap." She sat up. "The only other man I need in my life is the bartender."

Harvey pulled himself up into a sitting position, too. "You and me both." After a moment, he asked in a surprisingly serious tone of voice. "You ever think you could see me doin' that?"

She brightened, "Shaking your moneymaker? I already thought of putting you to work on the stripper pole, but I wanted it to be your idea. We'll just have to decide if you want your entrance music to be 'Cherry Pie' or 'Man, I Feel Like a Woman.'"

"I meant, me tending bar. I dunno. You think I might be able to pull that off?"

Madeline stopped, and she found herself smiling. "You make a mean gin martini. Not to mention you know every person in Gotham by first name, last name, occupation, and whether they like country or rock 'n roll... Would you want to work for someone else or would you want your own place?"

"Run my own place. Make my own hours." He ran his hands up her thighs to her waist. "Come home to you bringin' in the real moolah off those rich folks who'll pay you 500 big ones an hour, so long as they can cry that they're not gettin' enough likes on their Instagram. Get The Man off both our backs."

Madeline ran her hand affectionately through his hair. The more trapped a person becomes, the more they dream of escape. But sometimes the truth wasn't what needed to be said. "What'll you name your bar?"

"I liked your idea."

"Ooooh," she drew out. "I bet you did. Just so you know, I already trademarked the Boobie Trap and the Scuttlebutt, before you ask."

"What about the Landing Strip?"

"We'd need to find you a spot by the airport, so it'll be one of those double entendres you love oh-so-much." She shook her head at him as she stood up from the bed. "Leave it to you…"

He arched an eyebrow. "Leave it to me… what?"

"Leave it to you to pick owning a bar. The only other job riskier than being a cop."

She made her way to the kitchen, got on her cell phone, and booked herself a flight to Charleston for early the next morning. Then she rolled her eyes, muttered to herself, and left the warden a message, letting him know that she was taking a few vacation days. She didn't worry about the short notice. She'd have to tell Harvey that if he saw a ticker-tape parade down by the prison, all it meant was that Grey checked his voicemail that day.

Madeline went to leave the kitchen, but then … she stopped. She'd pushed aside her own thoughts and feelings about the looming danger all around them, but like most thoughts and feelings, they didn't stay put. She was glad she stopped herself before she walked back into the bedroom. She needed a moment away from him to feel what she needed to, about all the lives lost that day, the deep, enduring sadness Harvey had most likely only half-expressed, and the fact that she had no choice but to leave him after what was undoubtedly the worst day of his life.


	36. I Got Mine

6 Years Prior

They left for the airport two hours before Madeline's flight was scheduled for takeoff, and it was the right call. Traffic was heavy with people trying to get to work on time, and though Gotham International was only a medium hub airport, it was still busy for a Tuesday.

It didn't leave them much time for a good-bye, but they made the most of it, using humor as their surefire safeguard against having to feel too much at once. (Harvey asked, "If Virginia is for lovers, what's West Virginia for?" Madeline answered, "Sheep. And cousins." Because, you know, cliches. She also practiced her Rockefeller sign, so she could do her best Jay-Z when she went through the body scanner.)

They lingered a little too long in the drop-off lane. In the midst of a deep kiss, an airport security guard tapped on the glass of the car window, and without pulling his lips away from hers, Harvey tapped right back with his badge. They stalled for as long as they reasonably could, but eventually Madeline stood on the sidewalk with her suitcase.

Harvey called after her, "Don't forget to call me." It was the third time that morning he reminded her.

"Okay. I get it." She threw up her arm like he was the most unreasonable man in the world. "I'll call you when I get there." She started to walk away and then turned back around, "Don't forget to eat something today besides doughnuts, coffee, and scotch."

Harvey smirked at her, scratched behind his neck, and let the request hang as he stood on the sidewalk. Madeline smirked right back, knowing she'd text Johnson with instructions to relay the exact same message, just to tweak him.

A soothing voice on the public address system called for someone to go to the nearest courtesy desk and announced that Flight 118 was now boarding at Gate 13B. The airport smelled like they all do. Like tons of people and substandard coffee and burnt jet fuel. Once at the Delta Airlines counter, she checked in and got her ticket. When she turned back around, she looked back through the wide window and saw Harvey still standing just outside, keeping an eye on her. She waved one more time to him before she disappeared into the maze of convenience and fast foods shops towards airport security.

As she rounded the last corner, she stepped into the very back of a snaking line of about three hundred people. The crowd ran the gamut of all stations, ages, and backgrounds. TSA screenings: the great equalizer. She scanned the people in line and noticed quite a few strollers interspersed in the crowd. Thankfully, she'd remembered her earplugs just in case she'd be boarding the Shrieking Infant Express.

Madeline was about to accept her plight and settle in, when she decided a quick visit to the ladies room would be in the best interest of her thimble-sized bladder. She'd had relationships that didn't get as far as security checkpoints. The only thing worse than an enhanced pat-down was an enhanced pat-down while trying not to pee yourself.

After she'd washed her hands, she bent down to tie her sneaker, and when she looked up, she found herself only inches away from a striking Amazon of a woman with pale skin and dark brown, almost black hair. But that wasn't what caught Madeline's immediate attention. The woman's entire face was covered with dark bruises and scratches, and her left eye was nearly swollen shut. To top it all off, she stared down her nose at Madeline, sending her a cold glare.

Madeline blinked away and stood up straight. She cast a quick glance at the stalls to her right and noticed with some unease that they were all empty. Though she didn't look back at the woman, she could still _feel_ the Amazon shooting daggers right at her as she continued to block the only exit.

The hairs on the back of Madeline's neck stood up, and all of a sudden she wanted very badly to get back out to the line for security. Where it was busy, where there were people. She marched forward, hurrying past her to get to the-

_Whap!_

She was pulled and slammed up against the cold tile of the public bathroom wall. She winced as her shoulder caught the wall right before the back of her head did. What happened next was a knee-jerk reaction. Though her right arm was pinned tightly against the wall, Madeline launched herself forward. "Get OFF of me!"

Her counterattack was short-lived. She froze mid-struggle when she heard the hammer of a gun being clicked back and felt the ice-cold barrel wedge up underneath her jaw.

The Amazon leaned in. "Come on," she dared her. "Say another word. Try something." Madeline swallowed and the lump in her throat pressed against the barrel just slightly. Her stomach dropped down to her feet as she recognized her accent as Russian. She whispered, "Just give me a reason and I won't have to wait. I'll get to deal with you right now."

Madeline assessed the woman in front of her. She'd heard a lot of threats over the course of her career. This wasn't a threat. This was a statement of how things were. Also the woman's word choice hadn't been lost on her. She wouldn't have to wait. And she would _get to_. She would _get to_ deal with her, which for all Madeline knew might mean pulling back on the trigger.

The woman appraised her right back. "No?" She lowered the gun and wrenched her forward by her arm. "Then walk."

Though her legs felt like jelly, Madeline made herself keep pace. The second they exited the bathroom, they were joined by a tall, overweight man who had 'hired gun' written all over him. He moved right up against Madeline, sandwiching her in between them.

He asked in a barely concealed sneer, "You're sure this is Bullock's bitch?"

The Amazon answered him back angrily in Russian, and that shut down any further line of questioning. Madeline suddenly got the feeling that the question had been meant for her to hear and not for the woman holding her at gunpoint.

She tried desperately to think, and she darted her eyes all around her. She believed they'd make her regret it if she became a problem. But she still felt the urgent, gnawing compulsion to do something, anything to get away. She told herself that it was a fucking airport. There were crowds of people everywhere. They'd come across someone, more than one person most likely, and Madeline would make them understand that she was in serious danger. And they'd help her. They'd just … They'd have to help her.

The two thugs led her through an 'employees only' entrance and immediately down a back stairway. They moved down the stairs quickly, without encountering anyone. … And how in the hell was that possible? The entire airport was literally packed to the gills with travelers and employees.

She had an unsettling thought. Unless maybe this Amazon and her thick-necked friend already considered that. Unless they knew somebody or more than one somebody who worked at the airport. Unless they paid off people to block exits and stairways. She realized all too quickly that this hadn't been staged without a set plan in place.

They stepped out onto the pavement of the parking garage, and it happened fast. So fast. Tires screeching. White van, door sliding open. Of course, then her survival instincts kicked into overdrive. She clawed and kicked and screamed bloody murder but it was too late. Two more men. They lifted her up, like she was no heavier than a rag doll, and pinned her arms behind her back. Duct tape wrapped tight around her wrists and a black cloth bag pulled down overtop her head. The door slammed shut, and the van sped off. They had her. It felt like it had taken them maybe ten seconds. That's just how easy she was to grab.

She tried to catch her breath as she sat in the back of the van. No one held a gun to her. No one grabbed her or touched her. It was no longer necessary.

It took a few moments for her work up to it, but then she spoke in _the_ voice. The one she used at the prison. "They're going to know something happened to me the second I don't walk off that plane. You're going to have the _entire_ police force out looking for-"

Duct tape mashed across her mouth, cutting her short.

If Madeline had understood Russian, she would have heard one of the men remark in a bored voice, "That's what they all say."


	37. At the Bottom

6 Years Prior

Madeline sat on a soft surface, relatively certain that it was either the end of a bed or the edge of a plush couch. She supposed the comfortable seating should have helped her feel at least a little less distressed. It didn't. Her nerves and joints were more tense than they'd ever been in her life. Every single sense was hyperalert, and with her hands twisted up behind her back, she sat with her spine excruciatingly straight.

The Amazon and the hired gun mostly sat alongside her, and when they did leave their spots, she could tell by their voices and footsteps that they didn't stray far. The two heavies on payroll were joined by others at points, others like them. Though Madeline couldn't see anything past the black cloth bag, she could hear every word they said. Not that it helped her. When they did speak in English, it was to make remarks that seemed designed to rattle her. That or they joked about heinous subjects only they were willing to laugh at, which they did loudly. She was thankful when they went back to talking in Russian.

Time passed. It felt like she sat there for a long time. Or maybe not. Maybe it only felt long. Each second waiting for whatever was coming next felt like an hour. But eventually, the Amazon grabbed her up underneath her arm, lifting her to her feet, and ordered again, "Walk."

They didn't walk far. Within moments, she was deposited again into a sitting position, this time in a chair with a hard back. Then, without ceremony, the black bag was suddenly yanked off of her head, shifting her from total darkness to light. Madeline squeezed her eyes shut as brightly colored spots danced in her line of vision, like right after the flash of a camera.

When the room came back into focus, she saw an olive-skinned businessman, who looked to be in his late forties, in front of her. Everything about him read "smooth", from his neatly shaved face to his leather, polished shoes. He was exceptionally tall and precisely groomed, and he stood with a stillness that bespoke of poise and self-discipline.

He seemed to study her, and Madeline studied him right back, because …something about him was familiar to her. She'd seen him before. Then her eyes flashed with recognition. He was the same man from the notice board at the GCPD. The one at the top. Though currently, his face held none of the menace it did in his photograph.

This was the man Harvey had been after for … Jesus, for at least as long as she'd known him. So this was the man who set bombs to go off in neighborhoods, schools, and community centers. This was the man who was no doubt responsible for killing nearly a hundred people just a little over twenty-four hours ago. She stared fixedly at him, vaguely aware that she'd stopped breathing and should probably start again if she didn't want to pass out.

Madeline inhaled a deep breath as best she could, though it was difficult with the duct tape across her mouth. Sitting in place, she made a quick inventory of the room around her. It was decorated minimally with opulent reds and golds. She sat on a simple wooden chair that faced a dark wood desk, clear except for a working intercom on top it. Behind her, she could see the light and feel the warmth from a working fireplace back against the wall behind her. The entire room was set up with few if any personal touches as far as she could tell. The space was spotlessly clean and smelled faintly of air freshener like … a hotel. She was in a hotel.

The man in front of her walked over to the Amazon and murmured, "Thank you, Alya. Please, leave us to, uh, to talk." He placed his hand on the crown of the woman's head in what appeared to be an absent-minded display of affection. Alya smiled just slightly, looking pleased about something, before she left, shutting the door behind her.

The man stepped towards the wall behind Madeline, and she looked over her shoulder, keeping an eye on him. He pulled back the screen of the fireplace and tended to the fire, stoking the embers. When he returned to her side, he blinked at her as if he'd just noticed something out of place.

He pulled up a tiny corner of the duct tape covering her mouth. "I'll try to do this as fast as possible…" Then he ripped the duct tape off in one swift movement. She flinched and pressed her lips tightly together, fighting not to make a sound.

He crumbled the duct tape and tossed it into the waste basket by his desk. "I apologize for the discomfort. I assume... it is like a band-aid. It's best to just …" He looked her over before he said distractedly, "Make it quick."

When he turned his back, Madeline arched an eyebrow and shook her head incredulously at him.

...And what the… fuck was this … unreal interaction taking place?

She instantly went deadpan, trying to look impassive, as he returned with a paper towel and a glass of water in his hands. As he bent down to her level, she tensed, until she realized his motivation. He dunked the paper towel in the water and began cleaning up a deep scratch on her face.

She winced at the sting, and he said, almost as if to himself, "I told them not to be rough with you. Unless it was absolutely necessary…"

Madeline's cheeks went red at his words. She was pretty humiliated that she'd done this to herself, back when she was clawing and fighting for her life at the open door of the van. If she'd been able to get up the nerve, she might have assured him that he didn't need to worry. That the people who worked for him were more than capable of getting her where they wanted without having to hurt her.

When he finished cleaning up the cut, he set aside the glass and sat back behind his desk. "It's very good to meet you in person, Madeline. Though I do wish you and I were meeting under better circumstances."

She kept eye contact, but didn't reply. She didn't know a lot about what to do next, but she knew not to volunteer information if she could help it.

He paused to check the time on his watch. Then he asked, "How are you doing, right now, at the moment?"

At this, she raised her eyebrows. It took a serious level of self-control on her part not to say, _Aside from this minor manner of being scared shitless, I feel fine._

He hesitated before he said, "I only ask because I wanted to wait until you were calm and able to listen and engage in conversation." He shrugged in almost a sheepish manner. "Otherwise, what would be the point, hm?"

Her voice was hoarse. "... The point?"

He watched her carefully. "Do you know why you are here?"

She began to realize that she didn't care for the way her spoke to her. At all. She decided to see how he liked it when the boot was on the other foot. "No idea."

"No idea?" He echoed the words as if they were foreign to him. "Not one?"

Madeline thinned down her lips and didn't change her answer.

He asked in the same soft tone. "Do you know who I am?"

"I don't. Should I?" She suddenly wished she'd had more experience lying. She had her fortes, but this wasn't one of them.

His expression said that he didn't believe it could be possible, but that he'd been raised to be polite. "I don't mean to, uh, discredit you… But life has taught me that if the evidence is suspect, so is the result."

She let the obvious irony of his statement hang between them.

He waited for a long moment, before he spelled it out for her. "I find it highly unlikely that someone in your profession working inside Blackgate, often working far past the hours required, would not be aware of my presence in this city."

She'd been unsure as to how the Russian Mob knew that she'd be leaving Gotham by plane, when the decision had been made only hours beforehand. Now, she knew. And she'd never once had a clue until she came face to face with Alya in the airport bathroom. She closed her eyes for a short moment. That said a lot about how much she didn't see.

When he saw that no further response was forthcoming, he rested a hand against his chest. "My name is Dimitri Codmolov. My people … they have been following you for quite some time."

"I didn't know my life was so captivating."

"You were too important for us to overlook."

A sudden motorized sound cut into the conversation, and she jolted in place. She relaxed a measure as she recognized it as a cell phone on silent, vibrating.

He ignored the noise. "Come now, Madeline. I believe we both know why you are here."

Though she typically used her powers for good, she knew an awful lot about manipulation and how it could be used to assert control. Dimitri wanted her to think he already knew what she knew, when really he was just fishing for information.

She didn't change her pitch up. "I do?"

"You're a highly educated woman. And I believe you know … more. Certainly more than Detective Bullock would have himself believe."

With that, his name was spoken into the room. She'd made him be the one to say it though. She tried a little shrug. "I think you're talking about police stuff. All that information's confidential."

Dimitri nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'm sure it's nothing he would ever talk about with you. It's a grave mistake in our world to tell these things to the ones we care for. But … how much do you know, Madeline? How many connections have you made?"

Her next thought struck her with such force that it was nearly painful. That was why Harvey never told her anything. Why he balked, diverted, and stonewalled. It wasn't done to divide or inflame. Like most things he did, it was a move made out of concern for her safety.

She shook her head. Whatever. If Dimitri wanted some truth, he could have it. "I've met a lot of people who've killed other people. So I know what they want, and I know how they think."

He squinted and then pointed at her. "Ah, I've seen this. This is the, uh, the armor you wear."

It gave her pause. Dimitri spoke as if it were a certainty, but that wasn't the problem. The real problem was that he had it right.

He sat back. "But underneath this layer, this exterior, you do have the capacity to be reasonable. And if you think about it, there's no need for this part to be particularly unpleasant."

Her breathing was shallow, but she did her best to maintain her poker face. The two words repeated in her mind. _This part._

He took her in very slowly then, paying close attention, obviously making mental notes. "Though it must be difficult. Working in the type of atmosphere you do. From what I understand, it is a young person's job because of all the burnout."

Madeline was surprised by the evenness of her voice. "Well, you know, it beats minimum wage."

"No. No, it is remarkable, how intrepid you are," he said. "Walking unarmed into rooms with criminals who believe they are above the law. I'm sure you try your best to make convincing arguments. To stop them from engaging in illegal activities they've already made up their minds to carry out." He sighed a little and shook his head. "But honestly, it is... repulsive. The extents to which people will go to excuse their behavior."

She fought the scowl that threatened to cover her face. Behind her back, her hands dug themselves into fists. She began to think about how Harvey'd had to deal with this maniacal jackass for a year and a half, about all the masses of people Dimitri murdered at will, and about how he intercepted her the second Harvey went to move her out of harm's way. She wasn't thinking clearly, and she wanted nothing more than to dive across the desk and take her best shot.

Somewhere again, a cell phone vibrated loudly, breaking off her thoughts. She got the idea that it was probably inside the desk drawer. Over top of that, the drumbeat continued thrumming in the confines of her mind. _This part. -This- part._

He tapped the tips of his fingers absently on the desk and his gaze became distant and thoughtful. "He would be proud of you, I think. Of what you are accomplishing here in this moment." When he smiled at her, it crinkled the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. "It's been quite something ... watching you two. There would be far less problems in the world if more men looked at women the way he looks at you."

She could feel her face warm with anger as she struggled to keep her temper in check.

He met her gaze frankly, eye to eye. "Forgive me. I go on sometimes. I get off track. It's a, uh, a bad habit." He sucked in a deep breath. "I feel it's important for you to know that there have been opportunities that have been missed, which would have caused us to avoid all this ... unrest."

The phone vibrated for the third time, and this time she looked directly to the drawer of the desk.

Dimitri opened up his hands. "But of course, that's all past us now. Nonetheless, I am deeply sorry that I have no choice but to involve you this way-"

"No, you're not." Madeline wanted to stop herself, but she couldn't. She hoped that if maybe she spoke with enough icy disdain she might not sound pathetic. "And you can stop implying that Harvey is in any way responsible for my being here. The only reason I'm here is because you brought me here. You can use all the cultivated language you want, but really everything you're saying is just a load of sadistic crap. I know the only reason people like you spout off bullshit like that is to try to get control you don't have. And while you're at it, you can stop talking about Harvey like you know him. Because you don't. He's self-possessed. And he's tough as nails, and he'll fight his way out of whatever corner you plan to back him into." She paused before she added, "He's not impressed by you. And he's not afraid of you. And neither am I."

His bland voice came with a nod of his head. "That was very brave, Madeline." She frowned in response, and he said, "Unfortunately, in this city these are not times for brave people. These are times to be concerned strictly with survival."

She shifted in place as a glare set into his eyes. It was like watching a tinted car window roll shut. Dimitri sat up straighter, looming over her, using his size in an intimidating way that he hadn't before. He folded his hands as he leaned forward. Something was coming. "And I think you are neglecting to understand the severity of your situation."

Dimitri's eyes shone when he looked down at her, but not with warmth. She told herself to hold her ground and to meet his eye. Because it didn't matter. This was the man she'd heard about. This was the man who couldn't be reasoned with or called off. And if she had to meet him, the real man behind the mask, better to meet him after calling him out for what he was. But she could feel her face going pale and her throat going dry.

He eyed her. "How much would it affect him if something were to happen to you?"

Madeline stared forward and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

He then said, "Let me rephrase myself, since you prefer me to be more direct. What would it do to him if I were to kill you?"

She glared right back at him. "He's going to do everything in his power to shut you down, and he won't stop until he finds me-"

"Who do you think will aid him in your rescue?" She screwed up her mouth to fire something back, when he cut her off with sharp precision. "The majority of the police force is paid obscene amounts of money to ensure that I am not disturbed in any of my dealings. They work for me." He took a pause, and Madeline heard her own sudden silence. He ventured, "Maybe you think his Captain will use her position on his behalf. Essen answers to powerful people above even my station ... and all that means is that in truth she has even less power than Bullock. Her loyalty has long been bought out by the crime lords who run this city, and she is interested first in her own self-preservation at all times."

Watching the effect it had on her caused him to speak with even more confidence. "Maybe you think his partner, your friend, will help him. His partner won't antagonize me, because of what it would cost the people he cares about most. He won't want them ending up like you." He tossed up his hand. "Perhaps you think some other person in this city will put themselves in harm's way to help either of you." Just the very idea made him shake his head. "Gotham has been saturated with graphic news footage of the deaths of Bullock's last confidential informant, his CI's wife who worked for Robinson Community Center, and everyone who happened to be there with her. Opposing me in any way is a death wish, not just for themselves but for anyone related to them in any manner."

Dimitri continued softly, "And if there is still a question in anyone's mind as to whether or not I would grant that wish, it will be answered once they see how I've dealt with him and with you." He leaned in closely when he said, "No one is coming to save you, Madeline. The only reason I've kept you alive is because I want Bullock to be there when I kill you myself."

Madeline kept her glare, but at the same time her heart rate increased. She could feel her armor slipping.

With that, Dimitri checked his watch once more, and then he hit a button on the intercom on top of the desk. "Alya? Would you join us? Bring along Ivan, if you please."

The two thugs entered into the room. Madeline glanced over in the midst of trying to keep herself together. She saw Alya walk straight over to the fireplace. In one swift movement, she pulled out the iron poker that Dimitri had left in the fire. She sent Madeline a tight smile of satisfaction as she held up the fire iron, showing it to her. The point burned bright yellow, almost white with searing heat.

It was like a dream where you take a wrong step and all of a sudden you're just falling down fast. Madeline didn't want to show her fear, but it was a body-wide reaction. It was impossible to hide.

The two words returned. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. _This part._ Clearly, -this part- was over.

The insistent buzzing of the vibrating phone returned. He reached into his desk drawer and lifted up a cell phone. Madeline recognized it as her own. He checked the number on the screen. "He's been calling. Ever since your plane landed."

Dimitri cleared his throat, inhaled deeply, and took the call.


	38. Wake Up Call

6 Years Prior

Harvey frowned as he dialed her number again. He listened to the long, uninterrupted rings, and he breathed out a tense sigh. He'd called her five times now over the past twenty minutes. Each time it went to voicemail. Every time it did, the knot in his stomach twisted a little bit tighter.

_Pick up, Maddie. C'mon. Pick up._

Just as he was about to give up and call the airport, he heard the soft click of the call being answered. His shoulders dropped in relief. "Okay, grades are in," he breathed out. "You get an F in calling me."

"Hello, Detective Bullock."

He sat bolt upright. The voice chilled him to the bone. He closed his eyes and growled out through his teeth, "You piece of shit..."

Dimitri's voice wasn't lilting or glib. He now sounded exactly like the cold-blooded killer Harvey knew him to be. "You were given warnings that you boldly ignored."

He seethed the words out, sharp and furious, "You're gonna put her on the phone with me. Now." He rasped, "And I swear if you've laid one hand on her, you sick son of a bitch, so help me-"

A thin whimper sounded, right into his ear.

Harvey stopped. His blood ran cold. In spite of that, when he spoke, he made his voice sound calm and in control. "Maddie? Maddie, talk to me. Are you hurt?"

Over the line everything went absolutely quiet. Then her blood-curdling scream shattered the silence. It wasn't fear and it wasn't rage. It was a scream of white hot pain, torn right out of her.

He shot up from his desk, knocking over his chair. "Stop! STOP! Stop whatever the fuck you're doing to her RIGHT NOW!" He suddenly hated Dimitri more than he'd ever hated anyone in his life, and it pressed out of him in a fit of fury, "Get your goddamn hands off her, and **deal with -me-. Tell me what you want**!"

Dimitri answered back crisply, "I want a price to be paid for the aggravation you've caused me." Harvey saw red as he heard her gasping for breath between her sharp, clipped bursts of pain. The next wailing cry she made sounded wrenched out of her. Left to its own devices, his mind filled in the rest. "And I want an example made of those who interfere with what's mine."

On the coattails that, Harvey heard someone whispering something, and then he heard a different sound. It was still her, but this one was a guttural war cry. It was followed by a loud clattering sound, someone (a man) cursing at her, and chaotic noises of struggle. She yelled at the top of her raw lungs, her words running altogether. "Harvey! Don't listen to him! He's going to-" Her next shriek was muffled by something (someone) and drowned out whatever she'd been planning to say.

"MADDIE!" Her name ripped out of him.

Dimitri's cold voice returned. "If you ever want to see her alive again, you'll go back to the stage inside the abandoned Commodore Theater at midnight. Come alone and unarmed. Or I'll put a bullet in her head before you step inside."

He didn't know what they did next to make her scream, but this time she held nothing back. It pierced the air and rang out over the line.

Panic lit up his veins. He yelled into the receiver as loud as he possibly could. He had to make her hear him. He had to. "Maddie! I'm coming for you! I'm getting you outta there! I pro-"

Dimitri ended the call before the last word got through.

(x)

Harvey's breath heaved out of him as he stood frozen in place at his desk. He raked his hands through his hair, still hearing her screams echoing on a loop in his mind. Everything around him was dulled and out of focus, like right after taking a blow to the head.

He'd heard plenty of disturbing sounds come out of people over his tenure at the GCPD, but this was different. This wasn't a stranger or another cop or even his partner. He knew too much about what it took to make someone scream like that. The black box was coming unhinged and all manner of hellish creatures were now crawling out.

His shock didn't last. It was swiftly replaced by blood-pumping rage. He was hit all at once by the multitude of ways he could crack Dimitri's skull, crush his larynx, break his ribs, put a fist through his chest. It was dark and graphic and full of sound and color. It should have scared him, but it didn't. Instead, it did the opposite. It gave him much-needed focus.

He half-heard someone say his name, and he turned to face the sound. He looked up to see Captain Sarah Essen, standing stock-still just outside her office, staring down at him. Her eyes were wide, and her face was pale. Because she'd heard him shouting and cursing like a lunatic over the phone. He lifted his eyes to take in the floor around him. Right. Just like everyone else in the precinct.

He walked toward her, not even bothering to pick up his desk chair that he'd knocked over. As he made his way up the stairs, he noticed that moving his arms and legs did something important for him that needed to happen. It woke him up.

Essen met him at her open doorway and asked him point blank. "Is she alive?"

"For now." Harvey shook his head and it helped bring him back around. "But as long as he's got her, it won't stay that way."

"You spoke to him? To Dimitri Codmolov himself?" Harvey face must have confirmed it. Essen focused in, "What does he want?"

"Same thing he always wants," he snarled back. "More blood. He gave me a meet-up point." He swallowed, and the next words came out softly, "She's got 'til midnight. Least that's what he wants me to think."

Essen let out a hard breath. "Harvey, look at me." He did. "I know you already know this, but it can't be said enough. You cannot trust anything this man says. And you sure as hell can't give him what he wants. Whatever he told you, he won't give her back-"

"He didn't say he'd give her back. That's off the table." He had to work up to it before he could say it. "He wants to bring me back to what I couldn't stop."

She frowned in confusion. "... The bomb site? How can...? That area's completely saturated with emergency personnel from every agency in Gotham."

Harvey said, "He's taking her to the Commodore Theater. Where the Goat left his last victim. … Where Dix fell."

A mix of disbelief and dread washed across her face. "And you're actually going to follow him in there?"

"He didn't exactly make it sound optional."

"You think he's just going to let you walk into that theater and what? Stroll away?"

"Look, I'm not totally stoked on the general vibe, but I'm outta fuckin' options," he shot back. "What do you think he's gonna do to her if I don't show? That bomb that shut down half the city wasn't this bastard's coup de gras. _This_ is." He could still hear the screams. "You wanna imagine what kind of hell he's got planned for her, you go ahead. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not gonna sit here and let it happen."

She set her stare on him. "And just how do you think you're going to stop it? You're gonna show up alone with no weapons and just … what? Hope you can strongarm them into letting her go?"

Harvey closed his eyes. Maybe when he got there he could think of something. Eight years on the force. He ought to be able to think of something.

She lowered her voice. "Harvey, you're talking about mounting a one man assault against a mob boss and whatever army he brings with him. What you're talking about is -suicide-."

He shot her a look. "You got a better idea? Don't keep me in suspense. I'm all fuckin' ears over here."

At that moment, he heard his partner's voice echo from downstairs. He looked through the open doorway to see Johnson moving through the precinct. Harvey watched him catch the arm of an officer and ask what was going on. He muttered, "Gimme a sec, I'll be right back" to Essen before he stalked downstairs.

Johnson saw him and hurried over to meet him at their desks. His partner blinked at the overturned desk chair and lifted it back up into place. Harvey asked him, "You get Tiffany out of town?"

"Yeah, I talked to her right after you and I got off the phone last night. She's at her parents' place upstate. She just called me to let me know she got there safe."

Harvey released a pent-up breath, as that afforded him one small measure of relief.

Johnson's eyes were wide. He just kept looking at him.

He had a lot of experience giving people bad news. The best way was usually just to say it. "Dimitri Codmolov's got Maddie."

Johnson froze for a moment. "But you said she got to her plane. So what? He just…" Harvey watched Johnson take on a muted version of his own reaction. Shock hit him, right before anger took its place. "Look, they can't hurt her. That's the rule."

Harvey leveled a look at his partner.

Johnson raised his voice. "You can't hurt the hostage."

He deepened his stare.

His eyebrows went all the way up. He glanced at where the chair had been thrown back onto the floor. "Oh, Jesus…" To his partner's credit, he focused in much more quickly than Harvey would have wagered. He looked him straight in the eye. "Wherever he has her, we gotta get her outta there."

Harvey kept his words firm. "You need to listen to me. The way I see it Codmolov's not after you. Not yet. You get mixed up in this and that all changes. He'll be after you, probably Tiffany while he's at it. Maybe even your family. You've seen what kind of damage this monster can do, firsthand. He isn't afraid of putting in little extra overtime if that's what it takes to burn your world down." Hell, the living proof of that was in his face talking to him that second. He grabbed the kid's shoulder, hard, and made him look at him. "You need to back off of this and make it clear to _anyone_ and _everyone_ that you've cut ties with me. Completely." Harvey said, "You say whatever you need to say to make it stick. I won't hold it against you."

Johnson glared, as if it got up every hair on his back. "No. Fuck that-"

"All right, fine. I'm not asking you." Harvey lowered his tone to a dangerous pitch. "I'm telling you."

He shot back defiantly, "You're not tellin' me shit."

"Don't fuckin' argue with me." Harvey bore down into the kid's face. "This is how you stay alive. This is how you keep _them_ alive. You got that?"

"Jesus CHRIST, it's always the same line of shit with you!" Johnson shouted back in complete frustration. "Don't get involved. Play it safe. Don't take a stand." He got right back up in Harvey's face, "How 'bout you need to take a look around and wake _the fuck_ up?!"

They stood toe to toe. Harvey would be goddamned if he was backing down. "Now, you listen to me-"

Johnson shoved him, lightning fast and with such force that Harvey nearly tripped and fell over. "No, you listen to me. This fuckin' psycho tried to kill us. You, me, and that entire school. Right after that, he killed kids. Not other criminals. _Kids_." His eyes widened. " _Nothing_ is beneath this son of a bitch. He's not gonna stop. And if you think this is gonna end with you and Maddie, you're as fuckin' crazy as he is. After he's done with you, all he's gonna do is pick up and start right back over again. He's evil. He's just straight up fuckin' evil." Johnson's voice was low and focused and empty of anything but force. "Somebody needs to put a stop to this asshole. You want it to be you, that's fine. But I am not gonna let you do it alone."

Standing there, Harvey stared him down.

Johnson stood right up in his personal space, not budging an inch.

Harvey's face relaxed a measure and he shook his head at him. "...You know something, kid? You're not nearly as dumb as you look."

He offered a shrug. "Thank God, right?"

He started working up to saying something, when Johnson hit him on shoulder. "C'mon. Get your act together." His partner started back up to Essen's office, where she still stood in the doorway. "She's all lookin' at us and shit."

Harvey's mouth worked, and blinking rapidly, he followed after his partner. He and Essen got Johnson up to speed on the situation. It wasn't easy giving the details, but his partner needed to know the full gravity of what they were about to undertake.

He had to admit. After the kid gave him the pep-talk, Harvey found he had more energy in his voice. "We know where he's gonna be and we know he'll have her with him," he said. "But the biggest problem we've got is that I can't walk in there with you or anyone else." He added, "Or anything that'll actually keep me and her alive."

Essen said, "I'm raising the alarm."

Harvey's eyebrows went up.

She sent him a look. "I just need some time, and I'll get an answer."

He looked away. She needed time. Problem was they didn't have much of it, or more accurately, Madeline didn't have much of it.

She admitted, "And all I can promise you is that. An answer. For all I know, it won't be the answer we want. But if I can get you an edge in any way, I will."

Harvey swallowed back as he locked eyes with her. Something came over him just then. He thought about grabbing her, just pulling her in and … He decided against it. He did rest a hand on her back and whispered, "Thank you, Sarah."

She shared a glance with him and squeezed his shoulder.

Johnson had been staring off in thought and he looked back at them. "If he's gonna kill her. What's with the wait?" He asked, "Why all the build up? How do we know he hasn't already…" He caught the look on Harvey's face and said, "No offense, Harv… I don't mean to... "

"No, you're right," he said in a hard voice. "For all I know-"

Essen cut him off. "You need to stop thinking like cops and start thinking like Dimitri Codmolov."

Harvey nodded. If anybody knew what wound this nutjob's clock, it was him. He took a moment to think, and then he said, "This guy doesn't have a code. But once he decides to take someone out, the more gruesome and the more shocking the better. This is an absolute power play from soup to nuts." His stomach dropped and he tried to ignore it. "Whatever he's got planned next in the works, it ain't gonna be as quiet as us coming across her in some alley, like with Lyle."

Essen nodded her agreement. "You said he wanted an example, and with the arena he's chosen, he wants a public example. He wants an audience, literally, for whatever he's planning to do."

Harvey's mind went to work on the details, and it delivered a sudden wallop to his nervous system. It made something deep inside him twist. Everything was in a thick fog save for one clear idea he had in mind. "He's waiting… because he wants me to see it." Dimitri wanted to bring him back to the scene of one of his greatest failures and … "He wants to kill her in front of me."

They all fell quiet at the words he spoke. Then Johnson nudged him lightly in the shoulder, jolting him. "If that's … If we're sure about this… then that means we have time, right? Not a lot but some."

He said, "Yeah, but time for what? I told you what that homicidal maniac said. I look left when I should be lookin' right and he'll end it before we can get to her. I can't take a gamble, not where her life is concerned." Taking chances suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. Worse than that, a deadly idea.

His partner said, "Look, Harv. It's like you always say. If you wanna find out where somebody's gonna go, you gotta find out where they've been. We know where he's gonna be at midnight. But we gotta find out where he is -now- in the meantime." He let out a long sigh. "Dimitri doesn't have her hunkered down in some dingy cell or underground lair. He doesn't hide. He keeps everything above ground. Where anyone can see." He said, "That means that at all times someone out there knows something. If they tell us… we might be able to stop this thing, before he gets her where he wants."

Harvey shook his head. "Nobody, listen to me, nobody in this city is gonna talk to us. Not after all the carnage Dimitri left in his wake twenty-four hours ago."

Johnson argued back, "That doesn't mean jack shit. I've seen you in action. You got the right motivation? And you're real good at makin' shady mother fuckers talk."

After a moment of indecision, he looked back at him. "Okay, let's just say I manage to do that. Then let's say afterwards, they want to get word back to Dimitri. What then?"

His jaw stiffened. "Then we'll do whatever we have to do to make it so they can't."

Harvey almost reeled back. The kid was getting dark and ruthless on him. His black box wasn't the only one suddenly cracked open.

Johnson said, "I mean, I'm not talking about leaving bodies in our path, but …"

Harvey nodded his understanding. But anything else would be fair game.

Essen took in a deep breath, causing both Harvey and Johnson to turn around and look at her. She said, "On that note, there may still be one way ... " She reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a small, metal key on a keyring. "For me to help you."

Past the block of interrogation rooms, Harvey and Johnson threw open a door at the very back of the precinct. They both stared upon rack after rack and shelf after shelf of shotguns, grenades, smoke bombs, machine guns, and assault rifles.

Johnson nodded. "Hell yes. Now -that's- what I'm talkin' about." He set to work carting over two large black totes and a metal case under his arm. Every weapon he brought over thunked heavily onto the floor.

Any other time, Harvey would have given his left arm for a free backstage pass to the artillery closet as well as every single weapon in the GCPD whammy drawer. … But this was different. Every gun he picked up. Every weapon he chose, all he could think about were all the ways they could potentially pose a threat to Madeline.

His and Johnson's partnership had its rough patches, and more often than not they just weren't on the same wavelength. But ever since Johnson stood his ground back at their desks, they'd begun moving and thinking together, sharing one brain.

Johnson looked over at him as he loaded ammunition into a rifle. "Hey, listen, Harv. Maddie's a whole helluva lot tougher than she looks."

"Yeah," Harvey said. "Yeah, I know that." What he didn't tell him that her brand of tough didn't hold a candle to the hellfire that sadistic killers like Dimitri brought to the table. He also didn't remind Johnson that physically, she was just about as dangerous as a bunny in a pet shop window.

But then, a wholly different thought struck him. Though he didn't want to, he thought back to the chilling phone call. … Right there in the middle of it, she hadn't sounded scared or weak …She'd sounded…just as stubborn as always. Even more than that, angry. She'd sounded like she wasn't taking shit from anybody, not even the evil bastards holding her down and hurting her. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed she'd done whatever it took to communicate. She wanted him to know in no uncertain terms that Dimitri planned to kill her, no matter what he did. And Harvey knew that had not been a part of Dimitri's neatly planned schedule.

Harvey started thinking about what that move might have cost her and physically shook the thought away. Instead, he focused on an equally true and more important matter. The fact that Dimitri hadn't broken her. He lifted up a heavy shotgun. Not yet.

Johnson was still on his first thought tangent, "That and she's smart."

He nodded his absolute agreement.

His partner looked around at the situation they were in and added, "Way smarter than us jackoffs."

"Yeah, but uh …" Harvey cleared his throat. "Let's just keep that last part between us. You know, for now."

"Oh yeah, she already knows that, but she can't ever know we know that," he immediately agreed. "I mean, we gotta live with her after this. She'd never let us hear the end of that shit."

They brought every weapon they could reasonably carry between them out to their car in the parking lot. As Johnson loaded up the trunk with their veritable arsenal, Harvey walked back up to his Captain. They both cast his partner an eye as they stood side by side.

Harvey started off dryly, like he was telling the beginning of a joke, "So… what's the only thing better than mounting a one-man assault against a mob boss and whatever army he's got with him?"

She smirked at him. Then she fixed her gaze back on Johnson. "The kid doesn't back down."

Harvey crossed his arms and squinted into the afternoon sun, feeling gratitude well up deep inside him. "In that last fist fight, he must have gotten hit in the head harder than we thought. We'll get him a CAT scan as soon as we get back."

Essen lent him a tired smile. "I'll call you, no matter what the answer." As Harvey hurried towards the squad car, she said, "Be careful. Both of you."

He called back over his shoulder, "You, too."

Harvey climbed into the car and breathed out a long, heavy sigh. With a single phone call Dimitri had ripped his and Maddie's world to shreds. But that wasn't all he'd done. He'd also flicked on all Harvey's lights, flipped all his switches, and turned on every turbine. In that way, the man had no idea the dangerous door he'd opened.

In the midst of everything, he had a clear thought. _That and he has no idea who he's dealing with._

Harvey revved the engine, and he and Johnson headed straight for the only place they'd actually ever seen Dimitri Codmolov.


	39. What It Is to Burn

6 Years Prior

It didn't take them long. Harvey recognized the concierge as the same man he'd seen working at the front desk back when they'd stormed into the Waldorf Hotel and gone after Dimitri months ago. He had a pale, blotchy face and a wedge mustache Harvey had only ever seen sported by '70s porn stars. They kept an eye on him until he finally left to go down the hall to a back storage room.

They ambushed the concierge with silence and speed. Johnson locked the door behind them and kept his gun trained on the man as Harvey grabbed him and handcuffed his wrists around a heating pipe.

The man kicked and struggled, looking up and around at where he found himself cornered and trapped. Then the shouting started. "Hey, what the hell is this?! Get these off of me!" He ordered indignantly, "You better uncuff me or I'll-"

Harvey saw the man's gold-plated name-tag and said, "Look, George." Johnson clicked back the hammer of his gun, and it cut George off. "I'm usually the sorta guy who follows about half the rules when it comes to gettin' answers outta sleazy dirtbags." He violently yanked him up by the collar, and George spurted a noise of surprise. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "But I'm done with that now. So you're gonna tell me what I want to hear or we're gonna find out together what happens when I snap." He bore down on him. "You're gonna tell me when the last time Dimitri Codmolov was here."

"... I … I am?" George went slightly green.

Harvey took hold of the man's shoulder and twisted it hard. Obscenities shot out like fireworks.

"You're gonna tell me."

They found out that they'd missed Dimitri by less than two hours. Johnson took over from there. In quick movements, he pushed a linen napkin into the guy's mouth and secured it in place with packaging tape, right before they left him cuffed and locked the door from the inside behind them.

They shot up the stairs to the suite where Dimitri apparently held court and used the master key Johnson lifted off the concierge to get through the door. They burst inside, guns drawn, just in case anyone had been left behind to stand guard… but the room was deserted.

Harvey took in the empty beer bottles and discarded food wrappers in the kitchenette. He searched the main bedroom and bathroom up and down looking for any clue, any hint as to where he'd taken her next.

That's when he heard Johnson call out from the other half of the suite. "Aw, what the … _fuck_ …"

Dread twisted him in its ice cold grip, but he ran toward his partner, gun in hand. The second he shot through the doorway, he scrunched up his face at the high, vile smell that assaulted his nostrils.

It brought back a swell of grisly images from the sites of fires, electrical accidents, and …

That's when he noticed the recently extinguished fire to his right. He rushed up to the fireplace, his heart pounding wildly, as his eyes locked onto a fire poker that was stuck down in the remaining ashes. When he lifted it up, the point still gave off a thin stream of gray smoke.

Johnson said, "Hey, Harv. Look at this."

He whirled around, still holding the poker to see his partner standing behind the desk, holding her hoodie in his hand, the same one she wore as she stepped out of his car and into the airport.

Harvey closed his eyes and all manner of frenzied, vicious curses tore through his mind. He never had a difficult time pinning the worst, most accurate insult, but for the first time in a long time, no words came. His muscles tightened. He wanted to run, race, tear.

As Johnson took in the fire iron, his face flushed bright red and he looked away. It turned out Harvey wasn't the only one empty of words at the moment.

Harvey furiously chucked the fire iron, sending it clattering back into the fireplace.

His partner walked back over, still holding her hoodie in his hand. "We're gonna find her," he said. "And then, we're gonna put this fucking cockstain down." He shook his head. "I know… I know it's hard to-"

"You know what's hard?" he said. "Standing here when all I want to do is get my hands around his throat."

They both jerked in place as Harvey's cell phone rang loudly at his side. He hurriedly answered it, "What've you got for us, Cap?"

She said, "I have an answer."

Harvey braced himself. "And?"

"As it turns out … you're not the only one who's fed up with Dimitri Codmolov's excessive force and perverse choice of tactics."

Harvey felt a sudden spring of hope rise up inside him. "Okay. What does that mean for us?"

"They're sending out a car to the hotel. You're to follow them to their next location. I kept it simple," she said. "I told them what you wanted and I let them know that you had something they might want."

Harvey shared a look of confusion with Johnson, who leaned in, listening to every word. He said to Essen, "... What've I got that they want?"

Her voice lifted just slightly. "The same thing everyone wants. You know exactly when and where Dimitri Codmolov's next move is going be."

(x)

She told herself that she wouldn't scream.

Well, to be more accurate, she'd told herself that she wasn't fucking going to scream. That no matter how bad it hurt, she was going to find some hidden inner Cristiane Justino or Chuck Norris buried deep down inside her, and wouldn't they be surprised when she didn't make one goddamn sound.

What did they call 1/100th of a second? A millisecond? A centisecond?

Whatever they called it, that was about how long that plan worked.

The pain had been... blinding, unreal, complete. It kicked open a door in the back of her mind and pushed her through. Now she knew why burn units had a team of psychologists on call day and night. The knowledge of it allowed her some measure of self-forgiveness. She couldn't have found a way not to make herself scream. That was the stuff of movies, of fiction. It just didn't exist.

They picked out the area just beneath her right collarbone. The first burn brought more shock than anything else. It was the second one that destroyed her. When she already knew what was coming. The second time around, she panicked and her skin spiked with a burning sting before the hot iron got anywhere close. All throughout, there were times she screamed before the fire iron even touched her, certain it had, and then again when it did. The mental aspect of it might have been interesting to her, if it hadn't happened _to_ her and if it hadn't been so absolutely terrifying.

It was too much, and she never would have pulled together enough physical momentum to fight back, not on her own. Ironically, Alya granted the inspiration. Alya who she wanted to bash right in her black and blue face because she was so happy with the whole situation. In the middle of everything, she'd leaned in and whispered in Madeline's ear.

 _Scream for him to save you._ Then, when she refused. _Scream his name, bitch, or else-_

She never found out or else what. The fury of that combined with the pure adrenaline raging just beneath her exterior granted her a fleeting moment of wild power. She'd burst up, slammed her back against the chair, and crashed backward taking the chairs' legs out from under her. That moment and the fact that she'd been able to (almost) warn Harvey gave her small feeling of pride. They hadn't imposed their will in every way. Not quite.

Madeline wasn't sure exactly what happened from there. She passed out shortly after they ended the call.

She woke up to find her arms still tied, but in front of her and with rope instead of duct tape. She also awoke to find herself violently shaking. Shaking in a way that couldn't be stopped. It was intense and involuntary. As for the burns they left behind, she didn't understand why it hurt almost just as much as when it happened. She didn't know how it was possible, but she was still on fire.

Madeline sat in the backseat of their SUV, completely soaked in her own sweat, her entire body quaking. She wanted to glare and hold still, a living statue, but … it fell into the same category as flying pigs, the Chupacabra, money trees, and not screaming while being branded. It just didn't exist.

At the wheel, Ivan pulled to a stop outside a nondescript, small warehouse with aluminum siding and a beat-up, shithouse door. It had been their seventh stop. It turned out Dimitri was quite the man about Gotham, sealing deals, asserting his authority by way of the goon patrol, and always, always collecting up bricks of tightly-wrapped green-gray money. Madeline guessed every day was a busy day when you were a nutbag psychopath.

Still shaking in her skin, she looked out the window to see a blue collar working class man hauling over two large metal boxes and a heavy black toolbox, using a hand truck. The SUV bounced every time the middle-aged man deposited each box into the back. Madeline wondered what fresh hell lived inside. Whatever it was, she had the sick feeling that she'd find out soon enough.

Outside, the sun dipped down low in the sky, casting long shadows over the parking lot. Dimitri shelled out a few crisp bills to the man with the hand truck and he headed back to the car. Not meaning to, Madeline caught the eye of the working man. She stared at him through the window, and he stared straight back. Madeline watched his mouth part open and his face turn the color of bone china. He looked very much like a man who'd just seen a ghost.

She looked away, and when she did, her eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard of the car.

7:04 p.m.

He was still off by a few hours.

The searing pain of the burns interrupted the thought, and Madeline was oddly grateful. Normally about now, she'd be right smack dab in the center of a panic attack. But to attain that level of anxiety, first you had to be capable of having a string of continuous thoughts building one on top of another and currently she lacked the brain space.

Dimitri sat down beside her in the passenger seat and smartly shut the car door behind him. He neatened up the sleeves of his grey suit, cleared his throat, and took care of business on his smartphone. At the same time, the car jolted back onto the road.

Madeline thought about thanking him in the most biting, sarcastic voice she could muster for providing the full kidnapping and torture experience. She mentally penned a review for his Yelp Page. 'I highly recommend this establishment for anyone in need of fast service and sadism in a class all by itself. The staff are lively characters that will keep you engaged throughout your experience. However, the atmosphere was lacking the family friendly vibe I came in search of. Wifi accessible. A good default lunch spot. Four stars.'

A long shiver, a bad one, encompassed her entire body just then. She gritted her teeth and clenched shut her eyes. She tried to keep holding her breath, but she couldn't. An exhale shuddered out of her noisily.

It can't last forever, she told herself. Nothing lasts forever. The shiver reached its peak, and then all at once, it slowed back down to its regular pace.

Dimitri picked up a notepad and scribbled something down, murmuring, "All too often it is as Napoleon Bonaparte says… The strongest of all warriors are these two. Time." He closed the notepad with a crisp snap. "And patience."

Her words came out in a vision of red. "Napoleon was a snide, pompous bastard who burned down whole villages because he had little man syndrome." She tried not to chatter her teeth. "And Napoleon didn't say that. It's Tolstoy."

Dimitri sat back comfortably. "That is correct. However, it was Napoleon who coined the phrase 'death is nothing.'"

She rolled her eyes to herself as she realized that he'd just successfully baited her know-it-all side into conversation. "Yeah, well, trust me, right now it's everything to the families of all the people you killed."

"What he meant was that death is simply uninteresting. And anti-climactic."

Madeline struggled to get control of her breathing. They might still have to free up her wrists at some point. Maybe she had another surprise left in her that even she didn't know about. Maybe she could get in one good swing or get them in the eyes.

He commented, "I think he was saying that death has only one card. But life has the whole deck."

She kept it short so her voice would be hard and fuming without a tremor. "I'm done talking." Or at least, she'd planned to keep it short. The next words came out in a shiver. " _You fucking asshole_."

If Dimitri was fazed in the least, he neglected to show it. He spoke just as calmly as ever, "There are still moving parts that need to be put into place. A lot that needs to be done in a, uh, a short period of time. But yes. Very soon the time for talking with be through."

She rested her head back against the seat. If she closed her eyes and held her breath, maybe she'd pass out again. … But was that really how she wanted to spend the next few hours? She was typically prone to choose awareness over the alternative. Apparently, all it took was an afternoon with one creepy ass mother fucker to make total oblivion not sound half-bad.

No.

She reined in her thoughts.

No. He's going to get you out. He's coming for you.

_He's coming for you._


	40. Come With Me Now

6 Years Prior

Harvey stood at the very back of the hotel with Johnson, leaning against his sedan, waiting for the car that was being sent out to meet them. The afternoon sun had been replaced by a half moon that shone down brightly from the dark night sky. The temperature had dropped once the stars came out. Every time he looked down at his watch and saw another minute lost, he felt his head pound and his stomach turn.

Some situations in law enforcement were just nerve-wracking in and of themselves, like disabling Dimitri's fun little time bombs or like the scene of the Goat's crimes that this maniac was so keen on bringing him back to. But Harvey just wasn't the type to feel nervous on the job. If anything, the days where the shit hit the fan were the ones where he zoned in and damn near impressed himself by getting the job done right.

But with all the endless chaos unfolding second after second, the simple act of waiting for a car made him all but lose his mind with crazed impatience. The more frazzled a person becomes the more their rational brain takes a backseat to their emotions.

His thought. Maddie's words. A little tidbit that must've gotten lodged back in his brain and was getting unlodged now. Apparently going nearly forty-eight hours straight chasing down a slimebag mass murderer had a way of clearing out things upstairs.

Johnson frowned, taking in the parking lot. The kid sort of looked on edge himself. "So, how're we supposed to know which car's theirs anyway?"

Not a second later, a perfectly maintained black, gleaming Lincoln town car of late seventies vintage drew up toward them.

Harvey saw the car approaching and instinctively rested his hand on the grip of his pistol. It'd been a long, dread-filled day where every insane, destructive, seven-layer-bean-dip-of-no-way thing had happened. He hadn't gotten this far just to let his guard down now.

The car pulled up alongside of them and came to a stop. The tinted window rolled down, and Butch Gilzean bent his elbow outside the window, cigar in hand. He put up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, whoa. Hands off those weapons, boys. You could put an eye out with those things."

Harvey took his hand off his gun. Well, no shit. He deadpanned, "Hey, Butch. How goes it?"

"Hey, yourself." He grinned easy-like. "Hop in your car and stick close, Romeo. Today's your lucky day."

They drove into the side of town Harvey did his very best to avoid at all costs, where they often found floaters in the river and where bodies showed up in pieces. Eventually, he slowed to a crawl and turned the car down a narrow alleyway, leading them into the deep recesses of the city where only the truly dark whackjobs and reckless street kids dared to tread. Once they got out of their cars, Butch led them into an ancient but working service elevator, the type where the only thing separating them from the walls moving past was a flimsy metal guardrail. It creaked noisily all the way down.

They stepped out onto the last floor of the basement into a spacious but musty underground warehouse. The area teemed with an impressive number of men and women dressed in dark, sleek clothing. Most of them carried heavy artillery at their sides.

One stood out amongst the rest. Fish Mooney walked over toward them, wearing her six-inch heels, a skin-tight dress, finely styled hair, and her trademark seductive smile.

"Detective Bullock," she greeted him as she stepped forward. He couldn't pin her perfume, but it smelled of flowers, good taste, and a whole lotta hubris. She offered her hand. "Harvey, am I right?"

He took off his hat right before he accepted her hand. "Yeah, you got it right."

Fish cut straight to business. "I believe you and I are in a unique position to help each other. I've been given instructions to neutralize a threat to our city… A threat whom I believe has become entirely focused on you. We have everything we need to take him down, quickly and with force." She squared her shoulders and smoothly crossed her arms. "The only thing stopping us is this little matter of not knowing exactly where to find him."

"I woulda thought it'd be a serious no-no for a stone moneymaker like Dimitri to go dark when the boss wants him on radar."

"Dimitri likes to go AWOL. Especially when he's been told not to."

Harvey knew when someone gave you something nice it was best to shut up and say 'thank you'. But … these crime bosses made the city and him wait long enough for this moment. So as far as he was concerned, they all could wait a minute, too. "Any reason why they're makin' this move today as opposed to say … maybe yesterday?"

Fish's smile washed clean from her face. "You'll want to watch that mouth of yours, Harvey." She leaned in slightly. "Before it gets you in trouble again."

He met her eye and didn't budge an inch. Those candid cameras up at her place. He'd be damned if they weren't always rolling. But that didn't mean Fish wasn't making a fair point. "What can I say? I got a knack for sayin' the wrong thing at the wrong time to the high rollers in this town."

"So it would seem." She annunciated, "I've been watching from the sidelines, watching this little shit punk Dimitri get too big, too bad, too fast. But that's not all I see." She narrowed her gaze at him. "I also see an officer of the law hellbent on taking him down. Trying to make an example of what happens when someone who's attained an impressive level of power crosses a line. It's a dangerous game you've been playing, detective."

Harvey frowned at her, not exactly appreciating her word choice. "Ask anybody who bets the horses or tries their luck on the tables. Pretty tough to win a game when you got the house stacked against you."

She pursed her lips and looked to the side in thought. "You've pulled in … what? Twenty? Twenty-five of his crew over the past year? Every move he makes, there you are. That thorn right in his side."

"Yeah, well, maybe he shoulda thought of that before raining down all the general mass murder and mayhem."

"Maybe," she said with an edge to her voice, "but he's getting a little better at this planning and execution piece. Seems you bruised his ego and he can't have that. So, he guns down civilians. He sets bombs to go off in schools and community centers." She watched him. "He grabs up a doctor on her way out of town."

Harvey knew he needed to say something, to react, to give a response. But he was working too hard to keep himself together. He could still smell the bomb site. Still see the bodies. ...Still hear her screams.

Fish must have seen him working through something, because slowly and carefully she picked back up where she left off. "Some people, they overhear these same things I do. Now they see you running all over this godforsaken city, and they say … that cop had it coming. He didn't play by the rules. Maybe with all that obsession, he's a little unstable any how. Better to just let this play out, pick up the pieces later. But I see it a different way."

He sent her a piercing stare. "What way might that be?"

"The way I see it," she said. "A man only has that level of obsession for one of three reasons. Love. Money. Or power."

Harvey stood his ground, but kept himself quiet.

Fish looked him over. "Now, your badge, your gun, and that mouth of yours says power. But you're satisfied with what power you have. I can tell." She appraised his clothes. She reached over and brushed the tops of his shoulders lightly with her hand. "One look at your threads and you know it ain't money." She caught him in her stare. "So that just leaves one thing."

Normally this was the part where he'd lip off, 'If you want a love story, they got those nasty paperbacks down at the five and dime on Sixth Street.' And he would've said it, too, if Fish hadn't happened to hit the nail right on the head. Harvey was still trying to piece together a response, when his mouth opened, seemingly of its own accord, and started for him. "He's got a grudge to settle with me and he's using her to do it." His voice took on a humble tone. "If nothing stops what he's got in play, he'll get what he wants. He'll see us both dead and buried. I'm…" It was hard to say it. "I'm out of moves. I got nowhere else to turn."

Fish nodded her understanding. "The bombs, more accurately the one that detonated, was Dimitri's biggest mistake. Now this new little development is just adding insult to injury. He's involved outsiders. It's killing done for its own sake, and Falcone won't have that sort of savage bloodshed running unchecked through his city."

Harvey guessed he'd have to jot that down in his 'facts about Falcone' notebook.

She added fiercely, "And neither will I. I hear about thugs like Dimitri terrorizing the good people of Gotham? It makes for bad business. It gets my ire up."

Well, he'd seen what kind of knives came out of her back pocket when that happened. "Sounds like a problem."

"It is a problem. For both of us." Her face fell into a determined glare. "You want to see Dimitri suffer. So do I."

Harvey played back the words in his head a few more times before he said, "So that's where we stand with this thing." His voice sounded nearly as infuriated as he felt, "I tell you where he is and we go make him regret that he ever started playing with Molotov cocktails and time bombs in Gotham."

Fish asked softly, "Where does he have her?"

"At midnight, he'll have her at the abandoned Commodore Theater on Cantebury Street. And probably a whole army with him."

"Let me guess. He told you to come alone and unarmed."

"That's the drill." Harvey shrugged and looked away. "He hung up before I got a chance to tell him he'd never get away with it."

Fish seemed to muse on the situation for a moment. "Ordinarily I'd say it's not his style. Dimitri doesn't kidnap people. He buys and sells people if they're of use to him. He kills them outright if they're not."

"Guess for her he made an exception."

"Mmm. More like for you he made an exception," she pointed out. "He couldn't buy you and he's been after you for a long time." She looked at him. "You linger on his mind, Harvey."

He shifted uncomfortably in place. The idea that he'd been noticed and fixated upon by such a force quite frankly scared the hell out of him. But the fear was barely at all in regard for himself.

She then got back to the business at hand. "The advantage we have is the element of surprise. Therefore, our goal here is speed. They'll have all manner of weapons and they'll be primed for an attack." She added darkly, "When they shoot, they'll shoot to kill."

Harvey stood up a little straighter. "I get that normally the plan for these types of things is to go machine-gunning all over the place. But this isn't just some battle in a mob war. Not to me. This is a rescue mission. I gotta be in place to get her out of there. Alive and in one piece."

Fish spoke softly. "You know the risks as well as I do, Harvey. I certainly don't have to tell you that in these situations too often it's the civilians that get caught in the crossfire."

He said in a firm, controlled voice. "Wouldn't ya know I been spendin' a lot of time thinkin' about that."

There was something in the bemused cast of her mouth. "I had a feeling it might have crossed your mind."

"I'm still workin' it through. It ain't much a plan, but it's the best I've got."

Harvey shared his latest idea with Fish, Butch, and Johnson, and the votes went in his favor. He figured they saw things the same way he did. That their options had been narrowed down to just this one.

Fish said, "You're going to need a distraction."

Johnson offered, "I think we still got those crotchless panties back at the precinct."

Butch's eyes went wide. He looked at Fish. "...Well, there's a new one."

"Yeah, well, I been around." Harvey turned to Fish. "Don't worry about that. I'll cook somethin' up."

At that moment, Johnson hauled over their two huge black bags, stuffed to the brim with weapons. They clunked loudly down on the cement floor. "By the way, we come bearing gifts courtesy of the GCPD."

Fish and Butch both looked down at the guns as if they were the most adorable thing they'd ever seen. She said simply, "Come with me."

Harvey and Johnson followed Fish Mooney and Butch into a wide, tall back room stacked to the gills with three times as many weapons as the cache at the GCPD. The room was filled with about fifteen people, readying themselves for battle. There were weapons Harvey had only ever seen in action movies or heard about in war stories. He saw an AA12 Atchisson Assault Shotgun, an XM2010 Enhanced Sniper rifle, baseballs bats with barbed wire wrapped around them, the biggest tasers he'd ever seen, and ... guns that even with his near decade of police experience he just could not place. The room smelled overwhelmingly of gun oil and charcoal, and it held everything but an anti-tank system and the kitchen sink.

Johnson's mouth fell open in shock as he took in the room. He had the same reaction as Harvey, just out loud. "What the hell is that thing?" he said, pointing to a particularly impressive and heavy gun.

"Search me, kid. Some sort of high-powered kickass assault weapon."

"You think they modified an AK-47?"

"Whatever it is, it ain't somethin' you keep in your purse."

Harvey looked away from the arsenal of weapons and started thinking defensively. He grabbed up a couple heavy sets of Kevlar vests. Fear rose in his chest as he thought about the one person who needed one most and wouldn't have one.

Harvey took off his shirt, aware of his gut more now than ever, surrounded by muscular, athletic gunsmen and gunswomen with bodies sculpted to kick ass and take names. He readied his own vest underneath his clothes and said to Johnson, "Look, kid. I appreciate you coming this far with me. But ...there's a metric ton of shit that's about to go down here. You don't need to stay." He looked him in the eye, "I can take care of this-"

"Shut that hole in your face," he said in a final way. "I'm going."

He looked his partner over as he pulled his Kevlar vest into place. When hellfire rained down, Johnson would stand with him.

Harvey looked away and took in the scene around him. He saw Butch carrying out an assault rifle over his shoulder, and he saw a smaller but much more severe-looking man in his late twenties joining him by his side. With his dark tattoos, shaved head, and bulging eyes, Harvey recognized him as Victor Zsasz, Falcone's shiny, new appropriation. The one Madeline wrote a profile on. If that couldn't be considered ironical, he wasn't sure what could be.

Fish grabbed up a rifle that was just as big as she was as if it weighed no more than pocket-sized .22. She screwed up her mouth and chastised at a young man having difficulty getting his weapon locked and loaded. She barked at him to load up the ammo already, that it took an eight round case and step it the fuck up because she'd cut bitches up one side and down the other for far less. Fish clip-clopped loudly past them, muttering about children wasting her damn time, still toting her assault rifle.

Johnson watched her as she swept past. Then, he said, "I think that lady's my spirit animal."

Harvey eyes followed after her. There was a tear of velcro as he secured his vest into place. He answered, "Me too."

Fish and her team took the stairs, and Harvey and Johnson kept pace just behind them. As they stood outside, waiting to climb into their cars, a sudden chill gripped the air. Midnight was coming.

Harvey looked his partner up and down. "You ready, kid?"

Johnson nodded. He looked ready.

Fish marched up to them, and Harvey asked, "Think we got everything we need to pay Dimitri a visit?"

She said with ease, "He does appreciate when people arrive on schedule."

Harvey pulled down his hat on his head. "Let's not keep him waiting."


	41. The Show Must Go On

6 Years Prior

The city streets outside the run-down, dilapidated Commodore Theater were dark and abandoned. The air was eerily quiet. Harvey looked down at his Timex. 11:59. He watched the seconds tick down, and then his feet started moving. He began the terrible walk back into the theater alone.

Harvey used his shoulder to force open the splintered front door. He took his first step inside, smelling dust, dirt, and wood-rot. In some distant point in his mind, he could hear Dix telling him to wait. Not to go inside, because the girl was already dead.

The same gut-wrenching thought repeated itself now.

What would he do if Madeline wasn't here or worse, if she was there but she was already...? What the hell would he do then?

It was a question he shrank from. He didn't want to know the answer.

He walked further into the dank building littered with cobwebs. It was pitch black inside. As he moved past a collection of cracked and broken chandeliers, he craned his head back and forth, fighting to peer through the darkness. Then he froze in his tracks. He heard the click of their weapons just before he saw them step out of the shadows, shocking close to where he stood. Alya Tremaine pointed her rifle forward. Her scowl tightened the muscles of her black and blue face as she stared him down.

Alongside her, Chuckles the wannabe Gambino, pressed the barrel of his own gun into Harvey's side as Alya harshly patted him down for weapons. She came up empty, and though he could barely see her face in the gloom surrounding them, he thought she might've looked a touch disappointed. There was no way that they hadn't noticed the puffier-than-hell Kevlar vest he wore under his shirt, but if they let him keep it, that meant it wasn't going to protect him from whatever they had planned anyway.

Harvey said, "All right. I held up my end of the deal." He shot her a dark look. "You better hold up yours."

Alya smiled, as if nothing in the world could have made her happier. She gave him a sharp shove in the back, pushing him forward toward the stage.

As they walked into the main area of the theater, a cold sweat prickled his brow. He felt the impact more than he thought he would. The dormant reaches of his brain came alive. The past and the present overlapped one another. In some ways he barely remembered anything about that night with Dix and in other ways he remembered too much.

Just outside the thoughts and memories reeling through his head, Harvey stared forward at the stage, and he was hit full-on by a crashing wave of relief.

Madeline.

She was there.

Right there, center stage. Just as Dimitri said she would be.

His heart dropped down to his stomach as he saw that Dimitri tied her wrists with rope and attached them high to a wooden platform, not unlike Randall Milkie had done to his own victim years ago. Madeline's head hung down her chest. She had on the same jeans and v-neck she wore to the airport, but the way they positioned her, her shirt pulled up, exposing her stomach. He tried not to think about how low the temperature had dropped.

Beneath her, flames flickered inside a dozen thick red candles. Fresh lilies lay at her feet. Dimitri left no detail undone. He set the stage like this for the exact same reason the last psychopath had. So Harvey could see all the hard evidence of what she endured, of what he'd done to her.

It was taking everything he had to keep his emotions in check.

Of course, Harvey knew he'd feel something, _knew_ it would rock him to his core. Pretty wild how you can know exactly what your enemy is doing to you and it still works.

As they led him forward, Harvey kept watching her. He was trying to see her breath in the cold air. Trying to see her chest heaving up and down. It was too dark to make out if her eyes were open. She didn't seem to be moving. ...Christ, why wasn't she moving?

_You can't be dead._ He focused on her as he had the thought. _You hear me, Maddie? Don't be dead._

"Detective Bullock." Dimitri's booming voice echoed throughout the acoustics of the abandoned space. "I ask you to come alone and unarmed to a specific place and at a specific time." He stood on the stage, wearing his usual steel grey suit sans jacket. He carefully pushed up the sleeves of his shirt as he looked over at Madeline. "Apparently, these are the extremes that must be taken … to compel you to follow the rules."

Harvey kept his eyes on her. The closer he got, the more light bloomed upon her face from the candles.

Madeline caught him in her stare, her expressive eyes wide with fright. The tips of her toes just barely brushed the floor. So that was why she couldn't move. The closer he got, the more he saw how badly her whole body was shaking. He could see her breath now, pressing out of her in the cold air in harsh little gasps. … And deep, jagged red and white burns on her chest, just below her right shoulder.

There were a multitude of thoughts he had about every part of what was happening but one thought broke through them all.

She was alive.

Thank God.

She was _alive_.

Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived. Harvey's eyes moved from Madeline's to take in the scene just behind her. She couldn't see it, and for that he was sorely grateful. But he was certain she could _hear_ it. He always thought the Goat's crime scene was all very of Scream 2. But Dimitri's people were now bringing out tools and devices from inside the heavy black trunks. With all the needles, knives, and saws laid out alongside each other, they weren't in a Wes Craven film. They were in a Tarantino film.

The phone call was just his warm up. Dimitri'd spent the past twenty-four hours humiliating them. Now, he meant not just to kill them, but to unmake them.

He felt his heart rate kick up as Dimitri cast Madeline a smug, satisfied stare. She met his eye, and then hung her head and began to sink into herself.

Harvey's chest rose up. No. No, this slimeball had gotten away with enough. Too much. He would not stand by and allow him to take that from her. He wracked his brain, trying to come across any way to stop him from breaking her, to bring her back.

He came upon something simple. It wasn't like he had anything else, so he tried it.

He looked up at her and said, "Hey, beautiful."

(x)

Madeline had been hanging from the position Dimitri put her in for at least a half hour or better. The muscles in her wrists, arms, and legs ached from supporting her full weight. Every time she tried to relieve some pressure, the tips of her feet just barely found the floor. (Just because she was a tethered goat didn't mean they had to _actually_ tether her, did they?)

With her arms above her head, the skin around the burn stretched and pulled, shooting out hot little bursts of pain. She gave herself credit for not voicing it. She'd been staring down at the ground, red hair in her face, trying desperately not to move. And trying her best to keep Dimitri or any of his people from talking to her.

Then she heard muffled movement in the distance. Followed by echoing footsteps.

She snuck a glance upward. Alya and Ivan led someone inside. With his fedora and leather jacket, she'd know his silhouette anywhere.

Harvey.

He came for her. It dampened the fires in her body and in her mind until it was all she could think and it was enough. He came for her.

As Harvey walked down the aisle toward the stage, deep concern set in his eyes and etched across his troubled face. It took something out of him to see her that way. In that moment, he appeared older and more haggard than she'd ever seen him before.

Dimitri said something sharp and condescending, but for her, it barely even registered. Her eyes locked onto Harvey's, and then, not meaning to, she gazed up and around the rest of the empty theater.

The key word being empty.

There was no one else with him.

Because no one else was coming.

The blood drained from her face, and her heart sank.

When she glanced to the side, she saw Dimitri staring straight at her. He caught the look on her face, and he smiled broadly in return. The message was clear. No matter what they said or did from here on out, he'd won.

Madeline looked down and away, shutting her eyes to avoid facing the bitter truth. She trusted Harvey so much so completely that she'd pinned all her hopes on him. If he came here to die, her hopes died with him. Behind her she began hearing disturbing sounds, a metal rolling table, sharp tools clanking against one another, a generator starting up, a drill bit whirring.

… But also, the fact that Harvey was here meant that he came to spend whatever was left of his life with her, no matter what that end might look like. There was a fine line between morbid and romantic there, but deep down, she knew which side they were on.

Madeline tried to choke back every despairing thought and feeling. She had to open her eyes and hold her head high. She had to look strong, be strong for Harvey, who had been tortured much more by this man than she had been. But her body was in pain. Her emotions were more raw than they'd ever been, and the gap between composure and tears was rapidly closing.

"Hey, beautiful."

Madeline's head snapped up and her eyes found Harvey's. The words were softly and sincerely spoken.

She did not look beautiful. The skin just beneath her collarbone was a marbled, red, and blistering open wound. Her hair stuck to her face, soaked with sweat, sweat that was still running down her sides and legs. She was pretty much coated in dust and dirt from the air of the theater and stretched to her physical limit. She was the least beautiful she'd ever looked in her life.

But she wouldn't know it to look at Harvey's face. He gazed at her from where he stood between Alya and Ivan, and he suddenly looked much like he did walking inside their apartment at the end of a long work day. He ignored everything that was happening and focused solely on her.

It took two tries, before she got out, "Hey."

He used his easy, bedroom voice. "... How was your day?"

She pushed out a loud breath. It was amplified from where they had her on the stage. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but the smile that broke across her face felt full and radiant. She knew Dimitri was watching them, but she did her best to take Harvey's lead. She tried to pretend there was no one there but the two of them.

She felt the words sticking in her throat. "It's been a bitch of a day." Then, "... H-how 'bout you?"

"It's been a hell ride," he said. "But it's turnin' around. Now that I got you here."

Madeline ignored all manner of disturbing noises just behind her. "I had to deal with a lot of fuckheads today."

"Oh yeah?" He dug up a half-grin. "Fuckheads deluxe?"

She barked out a laugh, because she thought it was pretty witty given the circumstances. "Fuckheads incorporated."

He asked just above a whisper, "You give 'em hell?"

"Yeah," she breathed out, her eyes shining. "Yeah, I did."

"Atta girl."

She looked down at him, biting her bottom lip, shaking her head. He was strong enough to walk through those doors of the abandoned theater, knowing full well what he would find inside. And yet he was gentle enough to find a way to connect and give her strength when she thought all hope of strength had gone.

It was safe to say she'd never loved anyone more than she loved him in that moment.

Madeline wanted so desperately to open her mouth and let the words spill out. To finally say it. But she didn't think she could handle Dimitri using the words against them, to mock and hurt them. She wished so badly now that she'd said it sooner, so, so much sooner. As soon as she knew it and every day after.

Then she came upon her own idea. She cast him his favorite look, right before she said in a clear voice, "Ride or die."

That lopsided grin inched across his face. He confirmed it, "Ride or die, baby."

Dimitri strolled up in between them, blocking their view of each other. The dim light from the candles glinted against a small but sharp metal scalpel that he now held in his hand. He addressed Harvey with his usual mannered charm. "It's an important skill to have. To know when ...it is over. When to give up." He drew in a breath. "Now that you are here, detective..." He turned back around to face Madeline. "We can begin."

Behind him, Harvey called up to Dimitri in a loud, brave voice. "Hey, looks to me like she's had enough. How bout you take it out on someone your own size? Let her down and take a crack at me up there." He rose up slightly as he tapped both his hands against his chest. "You want fresh blood? C'mon. I got it right here."

Dimitri's eyebrows went up. "It would appear that you're asking for me to treat your request with respect. If you remember, there was a time when I asked you for this very same courtesy … and I was met with disregard and arrogance. I prefer respect, but if it won't be given to me…" He pinned Madeline with his gaze. "Fear is acceptable."

She wanted to fight, to claw at the ropes on her wrists, to somehow kick herself up and free herself. But even if she hadn't already tried that and knew it wouldn't work, she was too drained of energy.

Dimitri gave her a long once-over, standing tall and strongly built in his crisp white shirt and tailored suit pants. He said, "As you can see, it's just as I told you. No one is coming to save you."

The intensity of his eyes was shocking. Mostly, because he didn't look crazy. Madeline had encountered every brand of insanity. This was not it. He was … calm and absolutely fascinated. Not by her, not by Harvey either. But by the power he had over both of them. It should have made her crumble in terror and defeat.

But instead, it made her realize something.

If Dimitri had said those exact words before Harvey spoke, he would have destroyed her. That meant he missed his window, and that meant that he didn't understand this. This connection between herself and Harvey. He saw they loved each other, sure, and he knew all too well how to kill things. But there were some things too powerful, too hard-won that couldn't be taken away or killed so easily.

Hanging by her wrists, Madeline was nauseated and lightheaded. She felt flushed with fever, and she couldn't get control of her voice.

But she had some strength now. She wasn't going to submit to Dimitri for one second longer than she had to.

She drew herself up, as best she could, and sent him a small, fierce glare. "You're a coward," she stated it as if it was a fact. "You'll never be even half the man he is. And all this is going to show anyone is how much you know it's true." She looked him dead in the eye. "And how much that scares you."

A cold stare settled upon Dimitri's face, and for a second, everything was completely still. Then his eyes blazed. Something snapped, and he rushed her like an animal striking its prey.

Madeline gasped, flinched away, and squeezed her eyes shut.

She heard resounding clangs of metal against metal, right before the entire theater erupted in a hail of deafening sound, light, bullets, and smoke.


	42. Guernica

6 Years Prior

Metal-encased smoke bombs banged and rattled down the aisles, blasting thick smoke up throughout the entire theater. The second they hit, Alya and her counterpart swerved around in place, trying to pinpoint the threat. Harvey took his chance. He dove for cover, throwing himself down in between the rows of musty maroon velvet chairs. Gunfire rang out all around him, coming from each and every one of the entrances into the theater.

Harvey kept low to the ground as he scrambled to the left side of the stage and pressed his back hard against the wall to shield himself. The fact that he was still breathing meant Fish was right. They had the element of surprise firmly in hand.

Fish's shooters ran in, and they crouched down and opened fire. Several of them carried riot guns and were wearing puffy black bulletproof vests. They aimed low and bullets took out the legs of Dimitri's soldiers nearest to them. Two fell in a silent heap while another started screaming that he'd been hit bad, holy shit, he'd been hit bad.

He tried desperately to get his bearings in the midst of all the noise and chaos. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw Johnson charging down the aisle toward him, clutching an assault rifle in his hands. As he ran, his partner pulled back on the trigger and lit up one of Dimitri's goons. Harvey thought it might have been Chuckles the Gambino.

Johnson skidded down beside Harvey and tossed him both his guns and his shoulder harness. He shouted in his ear, "Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?!" over the blast of gunfire.

Harvey's stinging eyes searched desperately through the thick veil of smoke that completely covered and blocked his view of the stage. He couldn't make out one goddamn thing. It became all too clear that Dimitri's soldiers were being pushed back. They were losing ground. He was immensely relieved to see Fish's army gaining the upper hand. But that had very little at this point to do with Maddie's safety, and without Maddie, he wasn't leaving this place.

With gun in hand, he broke into a blind run up the stairs to the stage, cutting through the dark smoke still hanging in the air from the bombs. He wasn't playing it smart at all, running in like that, and he didn't care. He searched through the haze, shouting her name. Pistol-shots sounded in quick succession, and a .45 caliber bug droned past his ear.

Then it happened. Finally, the smoke began to dissipate. He raced forward and found himself staring at lilies, candles, and an empty wooden platform.

He whirled around in a circle through the wisps of smoke. No matter where he looked, the stage was deserted. He saw no one.

She was gone.

(x)

Madeline flinched away, bracing herself for Dimitri's attack. An endless second stretched out and explosive warfare thundered all around her. She peeked open her eyes to see Dimitri had … all but disappeared from sight. Color drained from the scene around her, replaced by a black fog of smoke and overwhelming noise. She heard the crackle of all manner of guns being shot. It felt like it came from all sides. The air suddenly tasted like soot and metal.

She spared only a moment to shock. Then she launched herself upward, grunting and straining at the rope that dug into her wrists, trying with all her might to push the rope over the edge of the nail she hung on. She did _not_ come all this way to die in a hail of bullets. She would not stay trapped like this, like a freaking sitting duck. She would not. She would **not**.

At first she thought she did it herself. That was just how delirious she'd become. Strong hands caught her around the waist, hoisting her up and over the nail. Her feet found the floor, and the thought was immediate. _Please be Harvey. Please be Harvey. Please please please be…_

Madeline let off a noise of panic as she found herself staring up into Dimitri Codmolov's infuriated face. Through the mist of smoke, she saw murder in his unblinking eyes. Glowering down at her, he pulled her forward and tightly held her in place like a shield. He took out the gun from his side and began shooting, round after round after earsplitting round that broke through the clouds of smoke.

Her head buzzed from the gun going off right by her temple. Gunfire battered all around them. A bullet whined past her shoulder. The nearest wall behind the stage burst apart in a roar of broken wood and concrete, springing up even more clouds of dust and debris. A sudden jerk on her waist, and Dimitri reeled her backward.

Madeline wrestled to free herself, but her body just wouldn't cooperate. She'd spent every ounce of energy she had in an unending state of panic, shivering from the burns, and straining her muscles being hung by her wrists. Her legs buckled beneath her as he forced her to go with him.

Then all of a sudden Dimitri had enough. He yanked her to him so fast that her head snapped back and he snarled into her ear in a savage, terrifying growl, **_"Move or I'll drag you."_**

In response, her jaw tightened and her body went stiff. She was no longer tired of being moved around like a chess piece. Now she was furious. She realized it would be just fine by her if her next words were the last ones she spoke.

_**"Fuck you."** _

She dug in her heels with jut-jawed determination, doing everything she could to make it as difficult as possible for Dimitri to take her with him. She did her very best to get her legs in Dimitri's way, kicking his shins, tripping him up with every step. The smoke and dust still hung high in the air, blocking her view of the war unfolding before her just mere feet away.

But no matter how she attacked him, Dimitri still had size and brute force overwhelmingly on his side. He seized her around the waist and pulled her up to get her legs out of his way, dragging her backward like a petulant child. In the midst of the battle and bloodshed taking place all around them, Madeline screamed Harvey's name at the top of her lungs, just as Dimitri carried her with him behind the stage.

She kept up the fight, cursing him and trying to break apart the rope around her wrists so she could claw him or take a swing. Somehow, one last burst of energy found her. She renewed her struggles and thrashed so wildly that for a second she thought she wrenched herself out of his grip.

But she thought wrong.

Something happened. Something made him stop everything.

Her shoulders collided hard with concrete as he slammed her up against the wall, restraining her.

With a naked glare, he stared straight in her eyes. He leveled his gun, pressed the barrel up against her forehead, and pulled the trigger.

(x)

A cold bolt of fear shot through Harvey's stomach as he heard Madeline shouting his name. He took off toward the sound, bounding across the deck and back into the apron of the stage, and he saw them. All the way in the very back right at the exit, Dimitri grappled with Madeline, and she used every ounce of power she had to fight him off.

Harvey ran with everything he had in him. He was still a good distance away, when Dimitri looked up and saw him, heading right for them.

Dimitri fixed his glare on Harvey. Then in deliberate, forceful movements, he pinned Madeline down, lowered his Desert Eagle execution style, and fired straight at her forehead.

The world stopped.

Every sense amplified. Every emotion hit. Everything blurred together. … And that's when he heard it.

A click.

Followed by a vicious, repetitive _click, click, click, click._

Dimitri was out of bullets. He used them all fighting off Fish and the soldiers she brought with her. He saw Dimitri growl out a snarl of pure frustration and angrily chuck his spent weapon behind him.

Harvey tore down the hallway. He pulled out his gun, set his sights on Dimitri, and fired three shots.

Two bullets hit in his right leg and his right side, tearing into him. Dimitri barked off a sharp noise of pain. He swerved left and right, looking very much like a caged animal.

He was beaten and trapped … and he knew it.

For Harvey it all happened in slow motion. In one wicked movement, Dimitri's hand flew to his side, and he unsheathed a knife with a long trailing point blade. He held the knife up high and violently plunged it down, stabbing into her. Madeline's mouth opened silently in shock, and her head kicked back at the impact.

Dimitri threw her down behind him into Harvey's path, and she crashed hard onto the ground. With a look of pain on his face, Dimitri fell into a hobbling run, his leg slueing. Harvey fired his pistol at him, again and again. The bullets broke apart the wood of the door frame, but Dimitri cleared the corner right through the exit.

Harvey ran for Madeline, his feet pounding against the floor. He had the thoughts even though he knew they were useless. He didn't know anything for sure. Maybe he missed her. Maybe it wasn't deep. Maybe it…

He slid down onto his knees beside Madeline. There was blood, a shocking amount of it, coming straight from a deep wound in her leg. It soaked through the knees of his slacks. His hand flew to his belt, and he unbuckled and whipped it off in one swift motion. He lifted up her left leg and pulled the belt tight, as tight as he could possibly get it, using it as a makeshift tourniquet to staunch the bleeding.

Dimitri hit her femoral artery. … _The motherfucker hit her femoral artery._ Once tied off, her blood stopped gushing out of the open wound, but a red trickle still dripped down into the wide, growing puddle beneath them, thick and slick on the floor.

"Maddie." She was staring off. He took his pocket knife out of his back pocket and sawed away at the rope on her wrists until her hands broke free. When she didn't respond, he took her by the shoulders. "Maddie, talk to me. You have to talk to me."

She wore a look of startled confusion. Her face was stricken. "Harvey, I…" She looked around blankly at where she was on the ground. "... What… what happened? Why…" She breathed heavily. "Why can't I get up?"

Harvey leaned in close. "Baby, listen to me." He focused his eyes on her. "You have to stay with me, okay? You have to _stay awake_."

Madeline blinked at him. She heard the words, but she didn't seem to understand them. She turned her head to stare down at the blood pooling on the floor. Slowly, almost as if to make sure it was real, she touched it with her fingertips.

It all happened at once. Harvey heard fast, powerful footfalls and Johnson appeared beside him in seconds. His partner let out a noise of shock right before he got on the phone to the 9-1-1 operator. He was yelling for them to get them a fucking ambulance and get them one _now_.

Up ahead of them, Harvey heard the revving of an engine. He shot a glance through the open exit door. In the distance, he watched Dimitri's SUV zoom past, throwing up a fresh shower of dirt and gravel, exhaust billowing out behind him. The vehicle disappeared down the street and out of sight.

Right behind Johnson, Butch Gilzean and Fish Mooney burst down the hallway, each with their large, heavy assault rifles in hand. They both came to a jarring halt they found Harvey and Madeline on the floor.

Fish looked toward the open exit door and put it together quickly. She ordered Harvey, "Stay here. Help her." She screwed up her face and growled out, "We'll go after that son of a bitch." Her heels clicked loudly as she and Butch both ran out the exit.

He looked down suddenly to see Madeline holding her blood-stained hand up to her eyesight. The acetone smell of iron, sweat, blood, and spent adrenaline hit his senses. She stared down glassy-eyed at her left thigh, where her jeans and skin were split apart by Dimitri's blade.

Harvey pulled her face to his. "Hey, hey," he said, mustering up a smile in the midst of everything. "Don't look at that. Look at me."

Her eyes glazed over in a vacant, fixated way that scared him. She reached up with her unstained hand and gently twined her fingers through his hair. She said the words with great effort, like she needed him to hear her. "You came for me. You saved me."

His chest heaved. His eyes watered. No, he had it wrong. She wasn't saying it just so he would hear her, but so he would _believe_ her. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Harvey watched her world threaten to go dark. Her eyelids fluttered, and she breathed out in a thin whisper,

"I love you."

Madeline's eyes closed and she went slack in his arms. He held her up by her waist and shoulder as her head dipped back. "No," he said in a faint, horrified voice. "No, no, no. C'mon…" He checked desperately for a pulse, for a heartbeat. He couldn't find one. He couldn't…

He pressed his face up against her mouth and nose ... and he felt a short, warm breath.

Every muscle tensed. He bolted straight up. "She's breathing." He repeated it frantically to himself, "She's breathing. She's still alive." That meant her pulse and heart beat were there - incredibly weak but _there_. It also meant she was going into shock.

Looking on, Johnson's face had gone white. "I called an ambulance," he told Harvey. "It's on it's way-"

"We don't have time for that." Harvey dug into his pocket, took out his keys, and threw them up to Johnson. The kid caught them out of the air. He said, "Get the car. GET THE CAR! GO! _RUN!_ "

The kid jumped to his feet as if he'd been spring-loaded and tore back across the stage faster than he had ever seen anyone run in his life. Harvey stared back down at Madeline. Her face was pallid, and her skin felt cold. He cradled her in his arms and lifted her up. He carried her with him and gingerly walked them through the open door only a few feet away, still feeling her weak breathing on his neck. As he did so, he tried not to think about how you weren't supposed to move people who were badly injured, because you might only hurt them worse.

Less than a minute later, his sedan peeled around the corner with Johnson at the wheel. It happened so much faster than he thought it could. Madeline likened the kid to the Flash. It wasn't tough to see why.

Johnson threw the car into park and sprung out from the driver's seat, looking to him for direction. At the same time, Harvey moved forward with care, not wanting to jostle Madeline any more than he had to. "All right," he said to Johnson. "Go into the trunk and get out the first aid kit and throw it in the..."

His partner suddenly wasn't looking at him or listening to him at all. He stared forward, his eyes fixed back on the way Harvey came. Pure raw urgency rose up in his partner's eyes, and it happened like it always did. Johnson sped forward in a blur, his gun in hand, moving so fast that it almost wasn't possible. He was just -there-. He thrust himself between Harvey and Madeline and the exit of the theater, and he pointed his gun forward.

Harvey turned around to see Alya Tremaine standing in the doorway. She growled out an animalistic warcry, lowered her assault rifle, and aimed straight for himself and Madeline. There was a blaring hail of rapid fire. Bullets sparked and flew right at them. But those weren't the only shots he heard. The sharp snap of Johnson's revolver fired round after round through the night air against the rougher report of Alya's machine gun.

Johnson shot Alya in the stomach, chest, and head, hitting every major kill point. Every one of Alya's bullets would have hit their intended marks, too, if he hadn't sprinted forward, putting himself in the path of her gunfire. Harvey couldn't get to his own gun. He couldn't do that and hold Madeline. All he could do was cry out a splintered scream as his partner dodged in front of him, taking the bullets meant for both of them.

Alya toppled over, collapsing lifelessly in the doorway, her machine gun clattering onto the pavement. Johnson kept firing at her over and over again, until she was down, until she stopped moving altogether, until his gun clicked uselessly, empty of bullets.

Harvey clutched Madeline tightly in his arms. He couldn't catch his partner before he tumbled downward. Johnson let go of his gun and fell to the ground with a terrible, mortal smack.

Harvey reacted all but instantly. He ran like a shot to the still-running car. In quick, careful movements, he lowered Madeline down into the passenger seat before darting back.

"Johnson!" He shouted the kid's name as he fell onto his knees on the ground next to him. He grabbed him up by his shirt and held a hand against his back, sitting him up. He took most the bullets in his chest, in his Kevlar vest. … But one bullet struck him straight in the neck. Blood hemorrhaged from the gunshot wound. Harvey pressed down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand. He didn't know why he did it. He knew that wouldn't stop anything.

Johnson's face was ashen. He wasn't moving much. When he coughed, he coughed up blood. Harvey shook him by the shoulders, hard. "What'd you go and do that for, huh?" He brayed at him. "I told you no big moves! Not without my say-so!" A sob broke through his voice. "Why the hell'd you go and do a fool thing like that?!"

Johnson looked back at him with that stupid grin and those big dumb dimples. He got out, "When have I ever listened to you about any of that shit?"

Harvey didn't laugh and he didn't cry, but he pressed out an awful noise that was neither and both at the same time. He pulled Johnson into a tight embrace, pressing the kid's face hard against his own. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Johnson's words rasped in his throat. "Go. Get outta here, you jackass." He was certain his partner meant to sound hard and forceful. But what he was really doing was pleading with him. "Get her out of here. There's an ambulance. They'll-they'll get me-"

"Oh, _now_ you want me to do this alone? Well, I got news for you," he argued back, his voice cracking. Harvey gathered up his strength and heaved his partner up to his feet. Johnson let off a pained, breaking noise as Harvey all but dragged him to the car. "It's like you always say, kid. You're going with me."

Harvey did his best to secure Johnson in the backseat. Blood seeped down from the wound in his neck, staining the gray upholstery a deep dark almost black-red. His partner leaned back in his seat, his eyes half-hood. In the front seat, with her pale skin and blue lips, Madeline looked terrifyingly just like so many of the corpses he saw every day on the job.

As soon as Harvey was in the driver's seat, he punched the accelerator. He sped out onto the road and made a hard left exit onto the highway. As he flicked on the siren and red bar light in his front window, he watched the speedometer easily climb past a hundred. His white knuckles gripping the wheel, he deftly passed every car that got in his path. His body radiated with shock and adrenaline granting him lightning fast reflexes and crystal clear focus.

He spared a glance into the rear view mirror. Johnson's eyes were closed. He wasn't moving. "Hey!" he barked at him. "Kid! Wake up! You hear me back there? WAKE UP!" When Johnson's eyes didn't open, he cursed under his breath and pulled out his cell phone.

Harvey dialed the hospital, wedging his cell phone between his neck and shoulder as he kept both hands on the wheel. "This is Detective Harvey Bullock, badge number 8703. You're gonna see a cop car driving up to the door of the emergency room. I need doctors to assist immediately. Repeat immediately. I have two young adult victims, one male with a fatal gunshot wound, one female with a fatal stab wound. I'll be there in less than seven minutes. You need to be on the scene the **SECOND** I get there. Do you understand me?!"

Harvey put the pedal to the floor. He overshot it. He got them there in less than five minutes. He squealed his car to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance. The hospital understood, all right. As soon as his car appeared, a veritable mob of personnel poured forth from the glass doors.

Harvey jumped out of the driver's seat, shouting at the doctors who met them. "Get the kid in the back! He's bleeding from the neck!" They threw open the backseat doors and reached in to get him.

He grabbed up Madeline and carried her in, her wet blood soaking through his clothes.

He barreled through the front doors and shouted in the loudest voice he'd ever heard himself use, "WE HAVE A STAB WOUND VICTIM HERE! SHE'S BLEEDING OUT! SHE NEEDS HELP **NOW**!"

Doctors and nurses converged from every corner. Before Harvey even knew what was happening, they took Madeline from his arms, got her on a gurney, and wheeled her back into the ER.

Harvey kept pace with them, holding onto her hand, until a nurse took him by the arm. She told him that they were taking her straight into surgery and he couldn't go back there. It took every muscle to let her go.

He got to his feet and ran back out to his car to help them get Johnson inside. He burst through the sliding glass doors to see two doctors by the backseat, one bending down on his knee at the open door, one leaning with his back against the car.

What in the hell was going on? There was no speed, no urgency. He rushed them. What the fuck was this, a fucking coffee break?!

Harvey went to give them all the fires of hell, but when he stared into the backseat, he stopped.

Understanding broke open him, dealing him a full deafening blow.

There was no longer any need for speed or urgency.

The kid was gone.


	43. You Will Leave a Mark

6 Years Prior

The hospital room smelled like Lysol, Clorox, and filtered air. Cold filtered air. Apparently, mid-October was still considered a little too early to fire up the heating system. Harvey sat in an uncomfortable, sagging chair, the only type they ever seemed to have in hospitals. He ran his hands over his puffy eyes. The sweat in his hair and the blood covering his shirt and pants were starting to dry. He hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands covering his face.

This had been a disaster.

He counted them up. Not one but two partners lost to a cursed, abandoned theater, and this time lost all the way. Before all the horrible business began at midnight, in the far reaches of his mind, he'd asked himself the question. …Would this time be different? If it was, it would all be worth it. If it meant the nightmares of that dark, dusty, abominable place would be over for good.

He'd gotten an answer, just not the one he wanted. The nightmare was back. Only now it was real. And this time it showed no mercy.

He gazed down at Madeline. No mercy except...

Harvey listened to the gentle, predictable beeps of all the machines they had hooked up to her, all different types, all reporting her vital signs. Normally, repetitive noise like that drove him right up a wall. Now that beeping was … everything. Just like seeing her chest rise up and down rhythmically and hearing her slow, steady breathing. Some color, just a little, was back in her freckled cheeks. Her full lips were now almost as red as her hair.

The longer he sat there, the more Harvey's head swam, not with any more thoughts (Thank God) but with exhaustion. Fatigue faded into a dull distant ache. He thought he was way too wired, way too furious, way too on edge to actually fall asleep. But eventually, his body gave in, and he did slip into a semi-twilight state. That was why at first he thought he dreamed it when he heard her stirring in bed.

Blinking his wearied eyes, he woke himself up and pulled his chair up closer to her bedside. He found Madeline looking at him, her eyes shining and alert.

He closed his hand over hers. "Hey."

Her voice scratched, hoarse from the effort. "Hey, handsome."

He made himself pull together whatever smile he could. "That's me to a tee. I got a trim physique, hell of an ass, voice like an angel..."

A small trace of her usual smile crossed her face. She whispered, "I told you you'd save me."

He was weakly relieved to find that even when the full impact of her words hit, the tears he kept waiting to cry still hadn't come. He squeezed her hand tightly in his. "The docs got you patched up. It might take a little time, but they said when all's said and done, you'll go on to live a normal life."

He watched her try to focus. They had her doped up pretty good. He didn't like seeing her foggy like that, but he was thankful that meant she was no longer in pain. "Well," she said. "They didn't have to take it that far."

Normally, he would have laughed. Even the thought of trying to laugh at this point seemed impossible to him.

Madeline pursed her lips and watched him. She seemed to be waiting for something. When he didn't say anything more, a cloud of worry worked itself over her face.

Harvey sighed against his closed mouth. He'd tell her about Johnson. How he gave up his life for both of them. He would. But he couldn't do it to her now. Not when she was just barely conscious, deep in the heavy haze of a morphine drip. Not when she still wasn't out of the woods just yet.

But that didn't mean he was out of bad news to give her. This was the part he'd been dreading. The part where he'd have to look her in the eye and tell her that he still hadn't caught the piece of shit who did this to them. To all of them.

He cleared his throat. "Look, I, uh… I don't wanna be anywhere else..." The ache in his chest pulled at his words. "I don't want to leave. But I-"

"Have to." It shouldn't have surprised him, but the strength of it did. Hearing her speak it aloud made it feel less heavy on his own heart.

He let out a short, shuddering breath. He didn't tell her that the only thing he hated more than the thought of leaving her in the state she was in was the thought of Dimitri getting away and coming back to finish what he started.

Madeline's head listed back into her pillow. "You have to," she in a distant voice. "Do whatever it takes. To stop him."

Harvey realized something in that moment. She wasn't asking him to be good, or to be kind, or to be noble. She was asking him to end it. It was a relief, and also it hurt like hell.

He cupped her face in his hand. "I'm gonna take care of this. I promise."

He leaned down and kissed her hard and full on the mouth. In that moment, he was overcome by how blissful it was to feel her lips softly kiss him back. When his hand let go of hers, her body sunk back down into the bed and her eyes closed.

Harvey leaned in and said in a low voice, "Oh, and hey, by the way. I love you, too."

A smile curled onto Madeline face, and he knew she heard him as she drifted back to sleep.

(x)

Fish Mooney sent a couple of her men to guard Madeline's bedside. Harvey made certain to tell them to keep watch with springs in their sides. With that done, he walked through the hospital's emergency room doors and out into the cold night air that would fade into daybreak all too soon.

He barely had time to settle in to wait before a familiar '70s style town car pulled up alongside the curb. The door opened for him, and Harvey slid into the backseat next to Fish Mooney.

She looked him over carefully, taking in the blood that soaked through his clothing, the bags under his eyes, his no-doubt dazed expression. She asked him, "How is she?"

Harvey answered, "She woke up."

Fish's eyebrows went up in mild surprise. "Persistent, isn't she?"

"You got no idea."

The car lurched onto the road, and she sat back in her seat. "She must have felt as though she had something worth sticking around for."

He nodded. "Stranger things."

"Indeed, detective." Fish sighed out, "Indeed." She stared forward as the sounds of the tires accelerating on the asphalt filled the silence. "I was sorry to hear about your partner, Harvey. … That boy did a courageous thing. For both of you."

Harvey let a moment of silence pass. Then he cast her a stare. "Do we know where he is?"

"As you well know, word around Gotham travels fast. By this point, Dimitri's burned through any contact base he still had." As she talked, Harvey felt the car pick up speed. "Our intel's tracked him to Midtown. Our best guess is that he's heading for the docks, making a break for open water."

"Whatever boat he's got out there, we can't let him get on it."

"He hasn't left the city yet," she spoke with absolute certainty. "And I feel a swell of pity for any person in Gotham foolish enough to aid him in an escape."

Looking over at the fire that set into her eyes, all of a sudden Harvey did, too.

Fish turned to face him. "You need to listen to me closely. I've allowed you to come with us because after what's taken place, I believe that much is owed to you. But Falcone has plans of his own as far as Dimitri is concerned. He wants him taken alive. No exceptions. His dignity's been deeply offended by what's happened, but retribution will be his for the taking. He's been very clear on this point." She narrowed her gaze. "Now. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said agreeably, humbly. "I got you. Fully understood."

They reached the marina and ran out onto the docks to find Dimitri Codmolov just about to board a small but luxurious yacht. When it came to running Harvey always found himself trailing at the back of the pack. After all he'd been through, he wasn't sure how it was possible or where the speed or adrenaline came from. But a sudden shock of pure energy lit up his veins. He felt like he was in his twenties again. … And he felt just like someone was there running with him. He shot out like a bat out of hell ahead of Fish, Butch, and every other thug with them.

When Dimitri saw him coming, he turned tail, but he didn't get far. Harvey tackled Dimitri hard onto the ground, and then from there, it was all a blur. There was shouting and cursing and a riot of thrown punches, right up until Harvey got both his hands around his throat.

It took Butch, Zsasz, and three more of Fish's soldiers to pull Harvey off of him.

(x)

Fish's people got Dimitri restrained, and Harvey rode back with Butch to Falcone's warehouse, the same place they'd all gathered right before the showdown at the theater. Harvey was still trying to calm his nerves and get control of his breathing when he stepped into the elevator to go down to the basement, the lowest level.

He followed Butch through an open doorway and in the near distance he could see a small, caged room. Inside, two men in white but stained lab coats secured Dimtiri's arms and legs to a dirty and well-used gurney. Within moments, Harvey heard Fish's heels click loudly upon the concrete floor and saw her walking right up to him.

He shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the cloud of irritation radiating off of her.

She said in a low, angry voice, "If I were you, I'd count yourself lucky. That Falcone said alive and didn't specify in what condition."

He rose to say, "I apologize, Miss Mooney. I saw him goin' to make his getaway ... and I snapped. I just lost my mind out there."

Her frown didn't fade. "I know all about grief, Harvey. Don't think that I don't. But I also know about you. How instead of asking for permission, you prefer to act now and apologize later." Her voice growled, "That might work up in that precinct of yours, but out here it won't fly. Around here, -I- call the shots. Should my orders go unfollowed a second time, you won't want to see what an apology will get you."

Harvey was in too much of a fog to feel the fear he should have at that moment, but he nodded his understanding. Because he was halfway smart, he elected to keep his mouth shut.

Fish's anger seemed to cool after that. Mostly because more pressing matters required her attention. The two men in lab coats strolled over to her. She raised her voice, "Detective Bullock. I'd like you to meet two of our finest. We call these two gentlemen our A team."

Handshakes went all around. He decided against telling them that he pitied the fool who crossed their paths.

Fish continued, "David, here, has a cousin who worked in receivables at the Robinson Community Center, and Jamar has two nephews, one in 5th grade and one in 7th grade at Gotham County Middle School."

Harvey's eyebrows rose. Well, how bout that. Then he nodded to each of them. "Don't know what to say, fellas. Sorry to hear you had to go through that."

David turned to Fish. "Anything you'd like us to know before we get to work?"

Fish crossed her lithe arms. "Dimitri likes to tie up young women and burn them with fire irons."

Jamar clucked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Does he now? For shame."

Harvey said dryly, "It's his new fall trend."

David replied, "Well, we all know how stylish Dimitri likes to be…"

Harvey added, "That and he trained his lieutenant to be a cop killer. She gunned down my partner tonight." He looked between the two men. He hoped they'd been working together a long time. He hoped they'd deeply understand what that kind of loss might feel like. "You want to talk about loyalty… Every bullet he took tonight was supposed to be for me." He took on a mob of GCPD cops for him. Given enough time, Johnson no doubt would have laid down in traffic for him. "He's one of those guys who didn't do the easy thing. He did the right thing." _And he was my best friend even though I didn't make it easy for him to be. And he still owes me a couple grand in back-pay and interest. And he'll be twenty-four forever._

David asked his counterpart. "I think we can do our best to hold Dimitri accountable for some of the … choices he's made. Hey, Jamar. We got any fire irons in the back?"

Jamar hummed. Harvey was suddenly very glad to hear that they spoke in the practiced, comfortable nature of two gentlemen who had worked together a long time. To him, it sounded like they had these exact types of conversations on the regular. "You know, I think we're fresh outta fire irons." Then he snapped his fingers. "But we got those trunks packed up with all his little tools he left lying around on stage. I bet if we poke around, we oughtta find something useful in there."

David grinned wickedly. "Think he'd mind if we borrowed 'em?"

From there, the two men got to work, and from the echoing sound of Dimitri's screams, Harvey could tell it was work they loved.

The screams went on for a long time. He kept waiting for it to bother him, but it never did. At one point, one of Fish's errand boys left and returned shortly after with a sleek, thin laptop that Harvey had seen Dimitri typing away on back at their first meeting at the hotel. They hooked the laptop up, right next to Dimitri's smartphone, and within moments of searching through the files, Fish turned to Butch. "We have what we need."

Butch headed for Falcone's cage of torture. "I'll tell the boys."

Harvey was certain that David and Jamar would find the news disappointing.

Fish closed the laptop with a snap and gave off a low sigh. "That's the thing with all this new blood coming in. They're all so proud to be on the cutting edge of technology. I always say if there's any information you might want to save for later…" She lightly tapped her temple. "Keep it up here."

Harvey stared off as the full exhaustion of the past week crashed down on him.

She saw it. "You look tired, Harvey."

He said, "I'm a whole lot worse than that."

Fish looked in the direction of the cage where the A team was finishing up their work on Dimitri. "If you have anything left that you'd like to say to him, I suggest you say it now."

Harvey frowned for a long moment. Then after a decisive nod, he walked inside the caged area to where they still had Dimitri tied down to a gurney with thick leather straps.

Dimitri still wore parts of his suit, but they were tattered and soaked in blood. David and Jamar looked like they'd done their best, and of course by that, he meant their worst. They'd sawed into sections of Dimitri's legs and arms and chest, exposing blood and muscle and bone. Sweat soaked his forehead and ran down his shirt. Blood dripped down with a 'ping, ping, ping' onto a metal grate beneath the gurney. After taking a quick inventory, he counted no fewer than seven thick, deep burn-marks on his skin.

To Harvey, Dimitri had always been the picture of wealth, intimidation, and civility, a fancy outer covering to hide the dark, murderous monster waiting to strike just beneath. Now, beaten and broken down to his raw form, he couldn't have looked smaller or more frail if he tried.

Harvey felt plenty of anger then. He wasn't surprised by that. It was sort of his thing. But he thought it would be loud, violent, and explosive, like back at the docks. The same way it'd always been. But this anger was different. It was quiet. He felt a thick, black hatred for the man who decided a score needed to be settled and was perfectly content to let Madeline and Johnson pay the price.

It took Dimitri a moment to notice him. In a deep, scratchy voice he said, "Detective Bullock… What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd stop by."

Dimitri heaved and coughed loudly and uncontrollably. It went on for almost a full minute. He cleared his throat before saying, "How long?"

Harvey frowned deeply at the question, daring him to finish it.

"How long did she take … to bleed out? I'm told it takes only minutes."

He felt his blood boil. He wanted to say something for Johnson and for Maddie, too. Something noble. Something snappy but true. Something they would appreciate.

Then he found it. He didn't need to let Dimitri have the satisfaction of knowing what happened to his partner. But he could let him know something else. He'd even use words the kid gave him.

He answered back in a strong, confident voice. "You know, she's a whole helluva lot tougher than she looks." He said, "It's gonna take a few weeks. But they're thinking she'll be back at work before the New Year rolls in."

Dimitri blinked. For the first time since Harvey had known him, he appeared speechless.

Harvey shrugged just slightly. "Ain't no surprise to me. You're no better at killing her than you are at any other slimy, despicable thing you try to mastermind in this town." He dismissed him, saying, "But I ain't tryin' to hold up production. From what I understand, these guys still got some work left to do before they can call it a night. So, I'll leave you boys to it."

He turned to walk away, when Fish stopped him in the doorway. She said, "We'll take things from here."

Harvey had gotten a close look at all the tools, saws, and knives that Dimitri had planned to use on them and that ironically were being used on him now. Whatever torture he'd planned to inflict upon them, he'd intended to make it last.

He didn't have enough energy to shut down the thoughts before they spoke themselves aloud in his mind. _Just how long would it have lasted? Would he have begged him to kill her before it was through? Was that exactly what this little slimeball was hoping for? What would have been the last thing Dimitri would have wanted him to see?_

He shivered in place. On the tail end of that, he felt a swell of gratitude well up inside of him as he stared down at her. "Miss Mooney, I ... I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

She sent him a gracious smile. "Just so you know, Harvey, my friends call me Fish."

He lowered his voice to a soft, sincere tone. "You ever need anything ... anything at all. I'm your man."

Fish openly studied him. "I appreciate that more than you know, detective." She spoke as if sharing a secret, "A good man like you always comes through."

When Fish held out her hand, Harvey shook it warmly.

Behind him, raw, hoarse cackling rose up into the air, echoing against the walls. Harvey swerved around. His face pinched in a glare, as he stared at Dimitri, who threw back his head in laughter.

He barked at him, "What the hell's so funny?"

Dimitri's laughter died down. If his hands hadn't been tied, he bet he would have wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. "It would appear that I was correct in what I said before." He looked to Fish and then back at Harvey. "That this is what it takes for you to finally follow the rules."

His jaws squeezed together. His temples tensed. He sent Dimitri a dangerous glare.

Dimitri smiled up at him, his eyes shining. "You'll try to hide it. But it, uh, it will not work. She'll see." His laughter built up again and came out with his words. "All she'll have to do is look at you … and she'll see who you really are."

Harvey's chest drew up with all the rage he felt inside. He spared one quick glance to Fish.

She looked at him closely and gave a small nod.

Harvey drew out his gun and aimed it forward. He fired the first bullet into his neck and the second right into the femoral artery of his left leg.

Dimitri answered his own question. It took him less than a minute to bleed out.

(x)

Harvey somehow pulled it together enough to stop back home to change and shower. Right after that, he got himself over to the hospital and sent Fish's guards on their way.

Once they took their leave, he trudged his aching legs up to the chair by her bedside, and he all but collapsed into it. His eyelids felt like they'd been dipped in cement. He wasn't sure when the last time he really slept was, but he had a feeling that if he just sat still, despite everything that had happened or maybe because of it, it might happen now.

Or at least, it would have, if he hadn't heard her soft, shallow voice. "Is it over?"  


"Shh, you need to rest."

"Harvey… is it over?"

"Yeah. Yeah, baby. It's over."

"Are you okay?"

"I… Yeah, I will be."

"I'm so… I'm so glad you're here."

"I'll be right here. All day. All night. You sleep."

Harvey barely got the words out before his head tilted back and his eyes shut. For the first time in days, his mind finally went quiet and he fell asleep.


	44. Not the Same

6 Years Prior

Madeline went back to work at the end of November against doctor's orders. Physically, any prolonged movement still took a lot out of her. She had to walk with a cane, which she hated with the fire of a thousand suns. But it was still less painful than doing another crossword puzzle or watching another rerun of _Shipping Wars_.

She'd been apprehensive as to how the inmates would take her return. For nearly two years, she hustled to build a reputation as someone who wouldn't put up with any of their shit. Just ask her. She'd tell you. Now she came limping back in with a bum leg, trading in her four-inch heels for ballet flats. She'd gotten herself knocked down a few pegs. Literally.

To her surprise, she encountered reactions which were the exact opposite of what she'd anticipated. Several of the men told her not to worry because they'd already "taken care of things" in Blackgate. After some gentle prodding ("And just what is that supposed to mean?"), they proudly announced that prisoners who were members of the Russian mob were their shiny new punching bags. Or in more serious cases, shanking bags.

Madeline made it emphatically clear to each and every one to knock it the fuck off or they could start looking for another therapist because she'd fucking had it with all this revenge shit. It was a damn cycle, and don't think she wouldn't hear about it if they tried to pull something off behind her back because she would and then she'd drop them like a bad habit. It didn't start with her cursing them out, but it ended that way. She tore a strip off one of the more hardened prisoners so bad that he got red in the face and broke down. After an apology on her part for taking it a little too far, it turned out to be one of their better sessions.

Grey actually tried being human with her, which sort of made her want to throw up. She refrained from pointing out how remarkable it was that he'd managed to extract himself from all the way up Commissioner Loeb's ass long enough to acknowledge her presence.

It was good to work with Wilson again, but he looked … somehow older and more tired than before, even though it had only been a month and a half. She tried to get him to cut the crap and tell her what he wasn't telling her. But he wouldn't budge. Whatever fresh new conspiracy was taking place at Blackgate, she wasn't going to hear about it from him. She probably would have started worrying about it, if she hadn't noticed who was scheduled in for her last session of the day.

Madeline walked into the therapy room to find Jack Buchinsky sitting in his regular position. Handcuffs on his wrists, coke-bottle glasses magnifying his watery eyes, and a "look-what-the-cat-dragged-in" smile on his face.

Jack greeted her. "Dr. Scott. So the rumors are true. You've returned."

She hadn't felt uncomfortable walking inside the room with her cane in any of her other sessions. Not until now. It was something to notice.

She sent him a tempered smile as she took her seat across from him. "Yes. I'm hoping the message can be: Sometimes when you think people have left you, they come back." She asked him, "How are you?"

"In all honesty, I'm feeling quite relieved," he said artfully.

Madeline felt her heart rate begin to kick up quite suddenly. She took in a deep breath as she sat there, feeling perplexed. Why was she having trouble breathing all of a sudden? She blinked a few times and did her best to ignore it. "About anything in particular?"

Jack said, "After hearing about the unfortunate episode that befell you, I have to admit, you had me worried."

She wanted to roll her eyes. 'Episode.' She didn't know they were suddenly in a Tennessee Williams play. She tried to speak easily. "Well, as you can see, there's no need for worry. Though I appreciate the concern."

He seemed to take longer than usual to consider her. Then, he said, "Yes, you're back in full splendor. You might say it's almost as if … no event took place at all."

Madeline took control of the session from there, asking Jack the usual questions. Was he noticing any side effects since they'd increased his medication? Was he sleeping? Any nightmares? Were any more 'flights of imagination' bothering him?

He was slightly more engaged and slightly more receptive than before, which by Jack Buchinsky's standards could be considered all but miraculous. For one twisted, purely sarcastic moment, she wondered if therapists should be stupid enough to get themselves kidnapped more often, if it would increase treatment outcomes so dramatically.

She glanced down at her watch to find that they were nearly at time. She decided to focus upon a subject that had been relatively safe to broach in the past. "What are you reading these days?"

"The newspaper. Mostly," he answered. "That's how I learned about the reason for your sudden absence."

Her stomach turned a little as he latched right back onto the same topic of conversation she'd worked to quell. She was still deciding exactly how she was going to respond, when Jack said, "It mentioned that you were valiantly rescued by two Gotham City detectives. One of whom didn't survive…" His brow furrowed in thought. "His name escapes me. Jonathon? Jackson?"

Madeline shot him a look that could have melted steel. "We're at time," she said in a severe tone. "I won't be discussing the subject of my absence any further-"

"It named the other detective as well. The paper reported on how his actions saved your life. But it failed to mention … his relationship to you." His eyes shone with a disturbing glint. "Which is a shame. I'm sure readers would have found it very romantic."

She heard her heart beat tapping in her ears. The images came back in pulses. A stage with red candles and fresh lilies. The turmoil that fell across his face when he saw her…

Her voice was ice cold. "Jack, I've warned you. If you can't refrain from making guesses about my personal life, then these sessions are over."

His face was a blank mask. "It also neglected to say anything … about the burns."

Her mouth parted open. The flashes returned. Alya's smile mirrored Jack's. Dimitri said, And I think you're neglecting to understand the severity of your situation. Her skin caught on fire. When the pain overwhelmed her, she felt pushed into a tunnel. There was darkness all around her. In the present, she flinched.

And he saw it. His smile widened in calm satisfaction. "From what I understand, the only burns worse than those obtained from an iron are those administered by electricity."

She shot Jack a look of disbelief and then slowly it smoldered into sharp anger.

He asked her, "Tell me, doctor... The man who did this to you..." He lowered his gaze. "Do you hate him?"

She breathed out hard and then she met his eye. "Why the _fuck_ would you ask me that?"

He leaned in as far as his restraints would allow. "Because you should."

Madeline pushed herself up from her seat and grabbed her cane. She threw the words at him, "I'm done talking." She couldn't hold it back then, and she couldn't hold it back now. _"You fucking asshole."_

She walked as quickly as possible to the call button by the door and punched down on it hard with her fist.

Jack called loudly after her. "Dr. Scott, I thought you wanted to see something real, something that was from me."

The guard opened the door, and she left the room. Her heart raced as she said, "I've seen enough."

(x)

Harvey kept an eye on Madeline over the weeks and months, waiting for her nightmares to kick into overdrive. He thought for sure it'd be bad after seeing the look on her face. Her gaze took on the distant stare he saw all too often in the eyes of trauma victims. And she cried. A lot. Almost always about the kid and what he'd done for them.

He didn't worry too much about himself. He missed Johnson like hell. It was unreal, the level of sorrow and guilt he felt. But… in some ways, it wasn't the first time. Unfortunately when it came to grief, he'd had some practice.

At the same token, for the first time in a year and a half, his and Madeline's lives weren't under threat. Dimitri was ancient history, and Fuentes was out of the picture. (There were rumors he 'left town'. If Harvey was a betting man, he'd put his money on Fish having something to do with it. She wasn't much for being left high and dry.) He figured that at least created pretty decent conditions for him to sleep through the night.

He figured wrong though.

The falling asleep was fine. It was the staying asleep that was the problem.

Harvey awoke mid-shout. He was soaked in a cold sweat and the bedsheets were a battlefield. He sat up gasping for breath and raked his fingers through his wet hair. After taking a moment to calm himself, he looked over to find Madeline's side of the bed cold and empty. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was just past three thirty.

He gazed out the bedroom window to see a white curtain of snow falling from a low gray sky. They'd gotten two feet of the stuff yesterday. Now this layer threw up a fresh blanket and clung to the trees and power lines. It tempered the city sounds of Gotham, giving everything a false sense of calm.

In unsteady motions, he climbed up from the bed and shuffled into the living room in sort of a daze.

Madeline was bundled up in a plush throw blanket on the couch, her face illuminated by the glow of her laptop. He noticed she wore one of his old t-shirts, the one with a hole in the sleeve. It fit her like a dress. Her red, messy hair spilled over her shoulders. She seemed to be taking her sweet time getting her next haircut. Harvey thought it might be out of line to tell her he preferred it that way, but that didn't keep him from enjoying that long silky hair of hers while it lasted. She looked up at him overtop of her glasses. She'd been wearing her specs more often.

Those were changes he liked. There were others he didn't. She wasn't as kind or welcoming to strangers. She jumped if she heard loud noises, harmless stuff like engines backfiring or thunder… or if he touched her and she didn't see it coming. Ever since "the incident" (She started calling it that. He hated it. Hated that they'd live and die calling it that.), he never again saw her forget to lock the door.

Madeline looked him over and set aside her laptop. "Having trouble getting back to sleep?"

He ran his hand through his bed-head of hair. "We oughtta decorate the bedroom like my desk at work. Then there'd be no problem."

She sent him a cute smile before hooking a finger and making a beckoning motion.

Harvey climbed onto the couch and leaned back so that his head was in her lap. She let out a long but sweet sounding sigh, and then she gently ran her fingers through his hair. She took it from the top. Talking about how it was over and it had been almost two months since it happened. She asked him to pay attention to how her hands felt going through his hair, how soft but secure the couch felt underneath him, to notice any sights, smells, or other sensations (like the scent of her shampoo and that orange vanilla hand lotion). She reminded him of the current date and the time and that they were absolutely safe, especially since he was a manly big 'ole hero cop.

Harvey thought all of it was pretty much the definition of baloney and horsefeathers. But he'd be damned if it didn't work like a biblical miracle every time.

She started rattling off in the same shrinky-dink voice that he looked sexy as hell peeling off that shoulder holster at the end of the day and just as good putting it back on when he climbed out of bed in the morning.

He smirked and sat up because if he didn't she was gonna get them both in trouble. When she went to get comfortable in his lap, she let out a soft wince and took great care to position her left leg across him as carefully as possible. When she relaxed against him, he pressed his chin against her forehead. "Thank you," he said.

After a long minute, she said in a certain voice, "It won't always be this way. Tragedy looks different from a distance. If you get enough space, it ceases to be tragic."

"Does it say that in one of those psychology books you got up on the shelf?"

"It will," she said. "Once I write it in one."

Harvey made a soft noise, a little stunned by her lofty highbrow projection and somewhat taken aback by her confidence. As they rested in each other's arms on the couch, he noticed something heavy and worrisome fall across her face.

He asked her, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "I, uh… I put someone in solitary confinement today."

Harvey was glad that from where she sat she couldn't see his eyebrows go up.

She said, "The way he is he could be in there for awhile."

After a moment, he said, "I'm sure you had good reason."

"He made a pretty serious escape attempt. He took advantage of the electrical storm last night that shut down the power grid."

Harvey nodded to himself. The snowstorm shut down more than just Blackgate. He got called into action no less than ten minutes after the city went dark. Alvarez got out of it by not answering his phone, as usual. It made him think back to the last power outage that had happened almost exactly a year before and how Alvarez hadn't picked up his phone then either. Harvey had said to Johnson, 'You know what that makes him.' Johnson said on cue, 'Smarter than us.'

He ran his fingertips lightly down her back and checked back into the conversation. "Sounds like that half-baked plan went ass up over ankles."

She said, "When I saw the weather report called for rolling blackouts, I told them he might try it."

"How'd you know?"

"Call it a hunch."

"Sounds like smart money." He looked down at her. "So why do I get the feeling this is somethin' you're gonna knock around upstairs and beat yourself up over for the next three weeks?"

Madeline smirked at him, unable to argue his point. Then her face softened into something more serious. "I don't want to believe anyone's beyond redemption." She struggled to get the words out. It wasn't like her. "I want there to be hope for everyone."

Harvey tightened his grip around her. "Some folks ain't meant to be saved, baby." He kissed the top of her head. "Especially not those bad and ugly types workin' on doing just the opposite."

"I know that now." When he glanced down, he saw tears peek out of the corners of her eyes. She looked up at him and said suddenly, "Harvey… I'm... I'm not the same."

He pulled her in and drew her close. She pressed the side of her face into his chest and sniffed loudly. It took everything he had in him to hold himself together. If he could have wrapped his arms around her twice, he would have.

She stayed quiet for a long time. Then she breathed out, "I'm so angry."

"I know."

"It scares me."

He closed his eyes as he held her and thought to himself, _I know_.


	45. Hear You Me

(x)

**7 Years Prior**

"Hey, Harv. What do you like better? The Asscher or the Princess cut?"

"An ass chair? How 'bout you keep your ass in that chair and get to filling out that evidence report in front of you. Before I reach that tender age where I gotta check into the old folks home."

"Thought you already were that age."

"No, I'm not. 'Cause if I was, I wouldn't have to be sitting at this desk, staring at your dumb face all day."

Johnson stuck to his first topic. "I like the princess cut one. It's swanky as hell." He set aside the glossy magazine from Dondero's Jewelry, picked back up his cell phone, and dialed again. The kid had his phone's volume jacked all the way up. From his desk, Harvey listened to the muted rings go unanswered until it was swiftly followed by Tiffany's perky valley girl voicemail. 'Hey, so like I'm not here right now but you know what to do. Leave it.'

After a loud, resounding beep, Johnson took a deep breath and sang in a terrible off-key voice, "Don't you wish your goldfish was wrong like me? Don't you wish your goldfish was a freak like me? Don't cha…" He shouted in an irritated voice. "I'll tell ya what I do wish! I wish Tiffany would call me back! After all the voicemails I've left! I really really do!" He ended the call and stuffed his phone down into his pocket.

Harvey didn't look up from his desk. "You know," he said. "They closed down the insane asylum around here years ago, but … for you? I think they'd be willing to turn back on the lights and make an exception."

"I am crazy. Crazy like a fox," he proudly proclaimed. "Tif's tryin' this whole cold fuckin' shoulder routine. She thinks that's gonna like freeze me out, but she gonna figure out that shit doesn't work. ...Soon as she checks her voicemail."

He couldn't help but crack a smile. "So that's what all the sing-along-wrong-songs is about?"

"That's the sixth one I've left. She's gotta call me back sometime."

Harvey blinked down and reached over to pick up the thick magazine Johnson tossed aside on his desk. He leafed through it, one eyebrow raised. "So I hate to be the bearer of bad news here. But I think you're supposed to wait 'til someone's, you know, returning your calls before you start ring shopping."

He shrugged largely. "I never know what's going on in women's heads. So the way I see it, if I wanna get some action, I gotta learn stuff I don't know. Perfect example, I didn't even know asschairs existed 'til today." He nodded to the magazine. "That and Dondero's has got this layaway plan that's legit. You can put down five bucks a month and they'll still hold the rock for you."

"If you've got five bucks a month, you oughtta send it over here to -this- layaway plan. How many times I gotta tell you, Pickering. I'm made of a whole lotta dirty things but money ain't one of 'em."

Johnson picked up his phone again. He waited through five long rings and the dripping sugar sweet voicemail. "I want to wake up where you are!" He paused for a beat. "I won't wear any clothes at all! So why don't you slide? Call me."

Harvey grumbled something about throwing the kid's cell phone off a cliff into high speed traffic.

Clearly oblivious to his mutterings, Johnson scratched his head and pointed to him. "You oughtta peruse that fine selection you got in your hands. Maybe I'll even be a good neighbor and let you borrow it."

"What for?"

Johnson narrowed his gaze. "...You're serious?"

"...'Bout what?"

"So not once. Like you never even thought about it."

His eyebrow raised again. The kid was giving it a workout today.

"What the f…? How're you not stoked on getting laid on the regular?"

"You think I'm not? Last I checked, that's the whole point of this life thing."

Johnson shook his head at him. "Dude, I've seen that lady with you. She's down for whatever, like 24-7. She wants to hang out with you and do dumb shit. Like waits up super late for you to roll through, when there's only Adult Swim and reruns of Cheaters on TV. She went with you to go get your car inspected." Harvey heard more than a hint of frustration in his partner's voice. For all he knew, maybe a hint of envy, too. "Her face lights up like the Disney Electric Light Parade every time she sees your ugly mug. It's like Gotham's version of Beauty and the Beast up in here."

"If it's all the same to you, how 'bout we don't jinx it? Some of us have plans tonight."

"All I'm sayin' is if I ever find a Smurfette who's down, I'm totally putting a ring on it."

Harvey hated it when the kid forced him into conversation that could be straight out of Real Housewives. He didn't know if it was a millennial thing or just Johnson's own special dumbass thing. But it was time to shut it down. "Look, you got it twisted. Maddie's not one of them broads who's into that whole lovey dovey romantical material things schtick. So how bout we all move forward from this."

Now his partner raised his eyebrow. "She's a girl."

Yet another keen observation from the resident Mr. Magoo of the GCPD. Harvey made a frustrated, muttering noise.

Johnson continued. "Haven't you ever seen Say Yes to the Dress? They all love that stuff."

"Look, kid. There's a reason Dr. Phil ain't on 'til four. It's too damn early for this-"

"Hold up a sec." He dialed up Tiffany's number again. This time it went straight to voicemail. He sucked in a deep breath, "I want your love and I want your revenge! You and me should take off all our pants. Oooooooh, oh, oh, oh, oh! I wanna take off all your pants."

Officers and criminals alike all stopped in their tracks as they came across their desks. Harvey ran his hands over his face. ...What did he do? Which God of middle-aged burnt out police officers did he royally piss off to deserve this?

Alvarez ran up to their desks, throwing his hands up in the air. "Allright, Bullock. I'm over it. I'm done. You need to do us all a favor. Just haul back and put his lights out."

From behind his hands, Harvey said, "If I knock him out, I'll have to do the paperwork."

Alvarez rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's like listening to a fuckin' cat caught in a garbage disposal."

There was a vivid image. But Alvarez had it wrong. At least in that situation there was a clear beginning and a clear end. The situation with Pickering never stopped.

Harvey cut off the kid mid-croon. "ALL RIGHT, MILEY CYRUS, THAT'S ENOUGH! I can't listen to any more of this!" He showed off his shoulder holster. "I'm officially pissed off and I'm fully armed. Don't fuckin' test me-"

"Hey, Maddie," Johnson called.

Harvey paused mid-rant and snapped around in his chair. He found Madeline leaning comfortably against the railing on the stairs, wearing a power suit that could've made the cover of Dominatrix Weekly. All black with nylons and black heels.

She walked up to their desks. "If it isn't my favorite detectives."

He looked her up and down. "If it isn't Doc Hot Legs."

She looked at Harvey, over to Johnson, and then back at Harvey. "What'd Johnson do now?"

His partner rose to his own defense. "It's not me! He's bein' a dick. He's not letting me sing my sing along wrong songs."

"... Sing along…? Out loud?" She pointed to Harvey. "Across from -this- man?"

Harvey widely expanded his arms. "Exactly. Do you see why I'm so aggravated? Do you get this?"

She made a show of looking at her watch. "It's ten 'o clock." She scolded his partner, "Just … stop with the singing."

Johnson dismissed it, saying, "You don't have the full story. There is a method to my madness." But after that, he did focus back on his paperwork, and for the moment, there was silence.

Harvey looked back at her. "Thank you. For bringing sanity."

She said, "That's the job."

Then Harvey gave her a double take. Which reminded him. "Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing here before your lunch break?"

"Sooo… this … sort of is … my lunch break."

He went wide-eyed. "That bad? You couldn't even wait 'til they stopped serving McGriddles?"

"I had a meeting with Grey scheduled at 9:30. I made it through about ten minutes before I told him that, I thought I was immune to his particular brand of bullshit but he must be putting a new strain out there. Then he said the next time I needed to tell him anything to write it down. And shove it up my ass."

Harvey just watched her. "Uh-huh." He said expertly, "And then what'd you say?"

"I told him thanks, but I'm not really into assplay. So he said I had 'til five 'o clock to clean out my desk."

So he figured. She got extra points in his book for that filthy mouth of hers though.

The kid broke into laughter. It trailed off into a sigh of contentment. "So, you're fired," Johnson said. "That's like the end of this story?"

She clicked her lips. "I'm probably fired," she agreed in an easy, unbothered way. "I figured I'd come down to the precinct, say all the things I haven't been saying to some of the officers here because I was afraid that if I did, I might get fired ... And then I'll just… you know, I'll see where things stand when I get back." She nodded curtly. "Take things from there."

"Welp," Harvey said, looking over at her. "You had a good run."

"I did, didn't I?"

"If you're fired, that'd free up our Friday."

Madeline smiled saccharinely. "And every other day. I'm just going to drop by the Property Crimes Unit for a minute." She lightly skipped away. "See if Detective Samuels happens to be around and available for a short, enlightening chat."

Harvey sighed. Look at her go. She is woman. Hear her roar.

Johnson nodded after her. Then, the second she was gone, he picked up his cell phone and dialed.

Harvey shook his head.

He sang at full volume, "It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you! There's nothing that a hundred old manwhores could ever do. I left my brains down in Africa. Gonna take some time to leave voicemails I never haaa-aaa-aaave. ...I know you think I'm gonna run outta songs, but I'm not. C'mon! Call me back."

Less than two minutes later, Nygma appeared exactly one inch off his shoulder. "Detective Bullock?"

Harvey let off a noise of surprise. "Jesus, Ed!" He swore to Christ. It happened like fifteen times a day. He wanted to kick him like he was kicking a fucking field goal. That's just the point he was at right now. "Whatever it is, you better keep it short. And..." He snarled, "If the next thing that comes outta your beak is a riddle, Nygma. Just…" He held the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "God help you."

Ed looked to them with wide eyes. "I just thought I should let you know that Detective Samuels is threatening to escort Dr. Scott off the property."

Pickering smiled and pointed out, "Aw. It sounds like she's feeling better."

Harvey agreed with a lazy, "Yeah, you know, she's havin' a rough day. This oughtta cheer her up."

Ed watched both of them, frowning. "You're not going to … I'm sorry. It's just I thought when two people…" Harvey arched that eyebrow again. "Are engaged…"

Johnson sent Harvey a shit-eating grin at the phrasing.

Harvey rolled his eyes so hard his face hurt as Ed struggled to make it through his sentence. "Just as you and Dr. Scott are … engaging. That it's customary to… rise up and act." He suddenly grinned widely at both of them. Then when no one joined in, his grin fell flat. "When someone threatens to escort her off the property."

Harvey rubbed the side of his right temple with his fingers. All right. Time for this week's edition of No Nerd Left Behind. "Ed, I know that this is the part where I break down basic human interaction for you and what not. Right before I offer to end your life or put you in the hospital."

Ed nodded as that sounded accurate.

"But let me drop some knowledge on you." He leaned forward and held up both his flattened hands like an air traffic controller. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do about that woman and whatever happens to escalate back there. It's pretty much become a fly by the seat of my pants operation. But what I -do- know is that every time I butt in on one of her little cat fights and go all Sam Elliott in Road House... I gotta spend like a week apologizing my face off. Then I'm just in my apartment, watching porn and not getting laid." Harvey shrugged. "I don't know if you know this but that's scene's become a little overdone for me."

Johnson barely got the words out he was laughing so hard. "Yeah, he's beat it to death."

Harvey gave him a sarcastic "ha, ha, ha" as he'd pretty much left himself wide open for that one.

After a moment's thought, Ed ventured, "So you … aren't going back there."

"That's right," Harvey said as if Ed had just answered a tough math question correctly. He pulled out his flask and started to unscrew the cap. "We are on standby. We are not going back there."

Ed took a deep breath. "Also she said that she's located Commissioner Loeb's home number and she's calling him to discuss Gotham's current political climate."

"She WHAT?! Fuck." She'd gone mad with power. Harvey slammed down his flask and made a fast break for the offices in the back.

He talked Madeline down off the ledge, effectively stomping out her rebellious fire that knew no bounds, and walked her towards his desk. He kept one hand on the small of her back. "Now, if you're actually fired and not just fake fired, like you know, the last five times, we can come back, revisit this thing. But for right now, let's hold off on committing career suicide at least until the close of business today." And if she just out and out refused to listen to good common sense, they could spend their next lunch date looking through the help wanted ads together.

She huffed up a sigh that scattered the bangs on her forehead. "All right… I better get myself back. Go try to make nice with Grey."

Johnson jumped in place. "You make nice with people now?"

She explained herself. "I just remembered that the auditor's coming through tomorrow. So that means he'll actually have to wait 'til Thursday to fire me, and … by then, I will be but a distant memory." A fresh layer of irritation seeped into her voice. "Because that is how nonessential my presence remains."

The kid looked at it optimistically. "Sounds like a perk to me."

Harvey thought, _Tell me about it_. There were days he'd give up half his paycheck if it meant that he'd stay off Essen's radar for a whole workday. He shrugged into his leather jacket and fit his hat atop his head. "C'mon," he said to her. "You look like you could use a little distraction from all this. We'll stop and get you some of that ice cream - I mean - coffee that you like."

She said, "You know, just one is a full day's worth of calories? I never should have looked it up."

He leaned in. "Yeah, but it hits the spot, right?"

She smirked. "Yeah, it hits _all_ the spots."

Harvey made a 'get out of here' face to remind her that never was there a man alive that cared less about that shit than he did.

His partner called to her. "Oh, hey, Maddie." When she made a noise of interest, he opened up the Dondero's Jewelry catalog. "Could I get your womanly opinion on something over here?"

Harvey rested his hands on his belt and holster and held back a sigh.

Madeline clip-clopped up to Johnson's desk and looked over his shoulder. He asked in a low, conspiring voice, "For strictly research purposes, if you had to pick out some bling bling over here, which one would it be?"

She looked them over for moment or two, and then she backed up, crossing her arms. "You know, all that stuff just … isn't really my deal…"

Harvey sent his partner a silent 'told ya so'.

The kid caught the look and kept going. "Don't give me that. C'mon, help me out. Look it, gun to your head, you gotta pick one. Which one would it be?"

Harvey shook his head. The kid was wasting his time-

"That one." Madeline pointed down onto the page.

"Ah, okay," he said. "That's the uh, the asschair. That's nice. That's a real nice pick."

"Yeah, it looks… classic," she said as if to herself. Then she cleared her throat, suddenly all business. "Also it's pronounced ah-shar."

Harvey held back a laugh. Of course, it was.

Johnson patted his lips. Then he went back to the paperwork. "Good luck getting un-fired."

"Thanks," she sang back. "Good luck getting Tiffany on the phone."

He perked up. "What? How'd you hear about that?"

"I'm a good listener. But also you're so very, very loud."

Johnson kicked back in his chair. "If I throw you a dollar, will you give me advice?"

Madeline said, "You don't have a dollar. But … flowers. And tell her 'Sorry. I've been sort of an asshat lately.'"

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure that'll work?"

She started to walk away with Harvey. "Worked for your partner."

They stopped by the coffee place that cost five times as much as the one Harvey went to on Eleventh Avenue, and she got her coffee that was really icecream. After she finished, he told her that he wanted to eat her up like ice cream, and he got to suck on her face and put his hands up her shirt in the middle of the workday.

Harvey got back to the precinct by lunchtime. When he walked up to their desks, he found Johnson's empty. Alvarez let him know that the kid left to go iron things out with his dime, which meant World's Worst Karaoke was on hiatus for the moment. His eardrums were grateful. Also it meant the kid's crazy cracked-out ploy actually worked. The next time Harvey saw him he didn't know whether he'd congratulate him or smack him one up the side of the head purely on principle. Though he supposed he could do both.

He slung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat down hard at his desk. Harvey found their paperwork finished. Finally. Success. When he pushed it aside, he found the thick glossy Dondero's magazine just underneath.

Johnson had dogeared the page and circled the ring in red marker. There was a post-it note haphazardly stuck next to it.

His partner had some of the worst handwriting of anyone he'd ever worked with, but if he made it out right, the note said, 'I call dibs on best man.'

(x)

6 Years Prior

Detective Harvey Bullock stopped as he walked back through the front doors of the precinct and kicked snow off his boots. The week before, the weatherman called for a White Christmas, but he'd been a few days ahead of the curve. The snow held off just long enough to jack up the roads right before everyone went back to work on Monday. Harvey'd got back to the office on Sunday himself. Such was the life cycle of the working class GCPD detective.

He walked past rows of evergreen garland pinned up around the precinct. Somewhere in the back, Carol of the Bells played on the radio. It was more static than song. When he got to his desk, he typed out the rest of the statements he received from witnesses. The city's lowlives got into the holiday spirit a little less like Saint Nick and a little more like Krampus on speedballs. Something about Christmas to New Years brought out the nasty in city dwellers.

But then again, he knew better than to expect anything less. After all, this was Gotham.

He set aside his typewriter and found himself looking down upon the empty desk across from his. Harvey wondered how long it would be before it didn't screw up his insides and send all his emotions into a crashing downward spiral. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was chugging down whiskey from his flash to reset his system.

Alcohol was his kneejerk reaction these days. Even more than usual.

Harvey groused as he pushed himself up to his feet and carried the reports to Essen's office. He stood in her doorway. "Hey there, little girl." He sent her a wolfish grin as he ambled inside. "You been good this year?"

Essen smirked at his banter. "Around here, we tend to be a more concerned with who's on the naughty list than the nice list." She accepted the papers. "What're you still doing here? Didn't you shift end an hour ago?"

He plumped down in the seat across her desk. "You know, if you don't give me time and a half, you'll be visited by three ghosts tonight." He got back on track, saying, "I'm hanging out for another half hour or so. Maddie's uptown putting some finishing touches on the new office before she hangs up her shingle."

Essen shared a knowing look with Harvey. Then without having to ask, she brought out her whiskey glasses and Jameson.

When she poured him a glass, he accepted it. Though he noticed that his Captain refrained from comment, he said, "Guess you heard that they told her to hit the bricks. They shut down her program. Gave her less than a week's notice."

She drew in a stressful sounding breath and sat up straighter. "I was told she and Grey had … words over it."

That was putting it lightly. Though Madeline didn't spell it out, Harvey could all but hear her telling him exactly where he could shove her walking papers and just how tight and far up. "She's gonna fight them on it. Tooth and nail."

"It won't do any good," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You should tell her not to waste her time."

"Yeah, right. You should tell her. God forbid she listens to me." Not that Harvey could say he was surprised. Fruity liberals like her weren't made to last in a hotbed of brutality and corruption like Crackgate. But, still… He looked down into the amber liquid in his glass before he said more softly, "Don't get me wrong. I get it. What more did they want from her, y'know?"

Essen leaned in, and Harvey looked right at her. Her eyes bore into his. "It could have been worse, Harvey," she said meaningfully. "A lot worse."

He frowned and looked away as they both sat nursing their drinks. Then Harvey sat up and scratched his neck. "So, uh, I was wondering. You think I could take off the next couple days?" He reached down into his pocket and showed the contents to Essen. "I'm thinking I might have my hands full, if you know what I mean."

She smiled widely at him and clinked her glass against his in response. They went back and forth about the usual things after that, about the city's latest high scoring criminals, who's sleeping with who, and the bullshit weather.

When a quiet fell upon them, Essen asked, "I was wondering… with the start of the New Year coming up. You think you're ready to take it down?"

Harvey paused only for a moment before he said, "Yeah." He kicked back the rest of his drink. "Yeah, I'm ready."

For almost two years, the cork board held photos of a myriad of Russian mobsters, Ivan Letharos, Alya Tremaine, and of course, at the top, Dimitri Codmolov. Two or three weeks after the kid passed, Harvey noticed that someone (he wasn't sure who but he had his suspicions that it was Madeline) put up a picture of Johnson at the top of the corkboard. It was the one where he was wearing a grass skirt and coconut bra, taken during the Jamacian-Me-Crazy bash at Iggy's.

It was a bad picture, where he was drunk and red in the face and looked like a smacked ass. And by that he meant it was a perfect picture. From there, the board built itself up. Notes, ticket stubs, photographs, and a postcard with a llama wearing an Orthodox Jewish hat that said 'Happy Llamakah'. (That reference was lost on him.) A lot of the pictures were of him and Harvey. Funny how you can never notice how much a part of your daily waking life someone is until they're gone.

He and Essen took care taking down each piece of memorabilia from the wall. Harvey packed them away in a couple shoeboxes. He'd bring them by Johnson's dad's place sometime. Let him decide what he wanted and didn't want.

He'd called up the kid's father the day after it all went down. He'd planned to keep it short and to the point, but it turned into an emotional phone call. Harvey let him know what Johnson had done for them and everything he meant to them before that. His father surprised him by telling Harvey that he knew all about him and Maddie, that Johnson talked about them pretty much ad nauseum. His father also told Harvey that Johnson's mother had passed away from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma only a couple years back. Harvey hadn't known that.

Visits to the kid's father were becoming a monthly homage. Much like bills from Dix's assisted living facility and trips to drop off the latest Juggs and Hustler.

When it came time to take down the last picture, Harvey hesitated. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. He took away the tack and lifted the photograph up to his eyes, before he let it drop down into the shoebox.

Good-bye, kid.

Essen must have been watching, because she rubbed his back for a few moments before she squeezed his shoulder. Harvey looked at her with gratitude.

When all parts of Johnson's wall were packed away and the corkboard was rolled back to the interrogation room where it belonged, Essen got onto a different topic. "Believe me, I'm more than happy to kick your loud-mouth smartass out of here for a few days …" Her voice took on a serious tone. "But you have to get back. You have to get back soon."

"Yeah." He looked down at his feet. "Yeah, I know that."

"She's going to need you."

"Yeah, well. You know me. I never miss a party."

"Also, Commissioner Loeb's going to be stepping down from his high throne to mingle among us commoners before the week's out."

Harvey made a show of rolling his eyes.

Essen pointed down hard at him. "And -that- is exactly what you're -not- going to do. This is your chance to make it clear in no uncertain terms that you're no longer the rebellious firebrand he's convinced himself you are."

Harvey glanced at her. "You're sayin' I gotta drag out my ass-kissing boots?"

"And lace them up nice and tight."

"How long am I gonna have to keep up that song and dance?"

She gazed over at him. "How long do you plan to be on payroll?"

Harvey grumbled out a few choice words followed by a resounding groan. He started to walk away with the boxes, when he turned back and asked Essen, "Hey, Cap. Anything you want outta here?"

She perused the contents of the boxes, and finally, she picked out a picture of herself, Harvey, and Johnson. It wasn't a great one. Johnson was the only one looking at the camera. She shrugged, smiled, and tucked it into the pocket of her blazer.

For a long moment, she looked at him. "When I was thirty-six, I lost my partner."

Harvey snapped his attention to her.

She said, "I was older than he was, had more time with the brass. I was always the one to go in first when we responded to a call. For some reason, that day I went in second. He went in first." She shrugged, as if to show him that accidents happen on all sides of the aisle. "It took awhile. I still think about him most days, but not in any way that keeps me up at night. Not any more."

He paused and stuck out his jaw in thought. When he looked to the side, he was still deciding whether or not he was going to say anything, when the words started coming out. "Back at the docks, when I was chasing down Codmolov. I'd been awake for nearly two days. I'd been running around more than I'd ever run in my entire adult existence. I'd just seen Johnson to the morgue and Maddie to the ER. It was pretty much a miracle that I was standing upright. But when I saw Codmolov going to board his boat, it was like someone hit me with a shot of adrenaline. I swear it felt like I was twenty years old again. I outran every person there and got to him first." Harvey shook his head. "Sometimes I think it was like… Pickering was right there with me, you know? Like he was making sure we took Codmolov down before he got to anyone else." He looked up at Essen and had a hard time reading her. He shrugged, trying to make himself look more casual if he could. "I dunno. It's weird. I can't explain it."

Essen smiled up at Harvey before she said. "I think you just did."

(x)

Harvey spent all day wondering when he would start to feel nervous.

When he walked into their apartment, kicked off his boots, and tossed down his hat and jacket, his stomach dropped down to his feet.

There it was.

Madeline had on her yoga pants and a tanktop, and she wore her copper hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail. Her left leg was iced and elevated on a mountain of pillows, which was all but basic operating procedure these days. She was lazily flipping through one of her many psychology books when she saw Harvey walk in. "Well, hey there, Detective Bullock."

It always got him going a little when he called her that. "Hey, yourself." He leaned down and kissed her quick before he headed into the back to put away the boxes from Pickering's cork board. He walked back out, loosening his tie. "Hey, so I was thinking for dinner tonight we could order in from the diner up the street. What do you think?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sounds good to me."

Harvey fidgeted a little in place. "Think you might be up for catching up on Project Runway?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said absently looking through her paperback.

He took a couple steps toward her. "I gotta run by Marco's outlet tomorrow after my shift. I'm starting to run out of work shirts. Think you might want to come along for that, help me pick out some new threads?"

"Yeah, sure."

Harvey slowly but carefully got down on one knee by the side of the couch. Madeline set aside her book and looked at him openly, giving him an even smile. Then she looked a little closer, saw how he positioned himself and her eyes went wide. Her book dropped onto the floor.

A lopsided grin worked itself onto his face as he opened a small velvet box with a diamond ring resting inside. "I been thinking you're the most beautiful person I've ever met and I've never been as happy as I am when I'm with you. And I've been thinking that I want to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how a mope like me wound up with a high-class lady like you." He held it out to her. "Think you might want to marry me?"

Her eyes shone and her mouth opened wordlessly. Then she hesitated for a long moment and said, "So … there's just this one thing I want to clear up. I don't want you to spend the rest of your life trying to figure out why I'm with you." She leaned in closely. "I'm with you because you're everything I want and because you're fearless and because you're constant and because you're real. So… if it's okay with you, I want to be the one spending my life trying to figure out how a pain in the ass like me wound up with a white knight like you."

His heart hammered in his chest. "So… Is that like … a yes?"

"Oh… Yes! Yes. Of course, I want to marry you! Yes, yes, yes, yes..." Madeline slid the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit.

She reached up then, grabbed him by the tie, and pulled him into a deep, full kiss. Harvey all but chucked aside the fancy box and focused solely on running his hands over every part of her body. He lifted her up by the waist and carefully carried her back into the bedroom. That night he was pleasantly surprised to learn that just got engaged sex far surpassed hotel sex, bar bathroom sex, and even makeup sex.

They did order grub from the 24-hour diner down the street. Then Madeline called up her folks. Of course, they already knew, or at least her father did. The day before, Harvey was afraid his breakfast might not stay in the holding tank as he waited for her father to pick up. Madeline always described him as a man of few words. Her father only said seventeen to him on the call. 'This is Gary.' 'That sounds fine to me.' 'Thanks for taking good care of my little girl.' It ranked up there as one of the better conversations Harvey'd had in his life.

As they sat on the couch, eating blackberry peach pie and watching Tim Gunn not lose his mind with all the divas they had on the show that season, Madeline stared down at her left hand and asked him, "So is this … that asschair ring?"

Harvey grinned. He'd wondered if or when she might notice. "That's the one."

She smiled so wide that she gave Johnson's dimples a run for their money. "I should have known you two were in cahoots together."

Harvey slipped his arm around her waist and let her believe that, though he knew the real story. Once they finished up dinner, he cleaned up the dishes, and he started up the dishwasher in the kitchen. He watched Madeline, all curled up on the couch, leaning her head back against the pillows. She held up her left hand and moved it just slightly, letting the facets of the diamond ring catch the light from their floor lamp. He smiled and leaned against the kitchen doorway, already contemplating making love to her again and falling asleep beside her.

Harvey knew Essen was right. He had to get back. There were things Fish needed him for, and he'd do whatever he had to do to keep things friendly between them. For all their sakes.

But for one selfish moment, standing in the soft light of their downtown apartment, seeing Madeline recovered and girlish and wearing his ring, he wished he could seize that moment with both his hands and see how long he could make it last.


	46. I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We’ve come to the last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, for all the feedback, and for encouraging this little piece of insanity. I’m working on another story that I hope to start posting in the next two weeks. The title is “The Life You Save”. (Because I think we can all agree Jim Gordon needs more therapy.)**
> 
> **This story is dedicated to my husband who read every word of this. He doesn’t like to read and he doesn’t even watch Gotham. He read it because he loves me. He’s the only reason I figured out how to write a love story in the first place.**
> 
>   **Thanks for taking the ride! Here’s hoping Gotham Season 3 will inspire you writers out there to post even more fanfic. :)**
> 
>   **This chapter is rated M because Bullock. It takes place smack dab in the middle of 1X7: Penguin’s Umbrella.**

**1 Year Prior**

A chilly breeze swirled an old newspaper and debris across the expansive metal platform of the train station. Detective Harvey Bullock slung back his fifth of Jameson with one hand and grabbed a healthy handful of ass off the Duchess of Devonshire with the other.

She giggled loudly in response and whispered something in his ear. He grinned and cackled out, "You freak my mind, you filthy girl." In the streets beneath them, he heard lintbags cursing each other out, cars laying on their horns, and bottles being broken.

Just another beautiful day in the neighborhood. Gotham was no Shangri La… But it'd been getting worse lately.

Together, he and the Duchess stumbled arm and arm down the tarmac. Midnight was creeping closer to one a.m. The leaves on the trees were a week away from reaching their fall climax. The good people of Gotham were turning in, and the junkies and maniacs were coming out. Harvey was unaware of all the subtle changes taking place around him. All he knew for sure was that Gordon was trying to kill him again.

That goddamn putz. How difficult was it just lay low and get with the program? He tried telling him - don't hurt yourself trying to work too hard. Being a GCPD cop was just a job, and by the way, it wasn't a very good one.

It'd been pretty fucking simple. Shoot Penguin. You know, so he's dead. Over. Done. Or so Harvey thought. Then who should stroll in through the doors at the GCPD? You remember Penguin, don't you? Little pissant with the umbrella, walks with a limp, very strange - supposed to be very dead, except, you know, he's not?

That meant Harvey's ass was horsemeat. All because Gordon couldn't follow a basic instruction.

Even if by some miracle he survived this, the crime bosses were doing their very best to start a city-wide mob war. Though to be fair, Harvey figured it was about that time. Every four or five years it happened like clockwork. Gotta clean the palate. Either way, shit was getting stirred. Whatever was gonna happen next, it wasn't going to be pretty.

And on top of it all, he went and screwed over Fish. Choosing Gordon over her. Talk about the dumbfuck move of the century. Hopefully, they'd leave all his colorful cavorting out of his obituary. Here lies Harvey Bullock. He liked his whiskey and women Irish and his bed filled to the brim with prostitutes. He leaves behind to all you drunks and perverts a drawer full of mostly illegal weapons and a VCR.

Jesus H. Christ. He felt like he had a sign on him that said, "if you're fruitcrackers, please bother me and never go away". Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to -not- have life hitting him full-on in the gonads every time.

He stumbled for a second and just barely caught his balance on a railing. His head started to spin. He mumbled something to the Duchess about "taking a fiver" and told her to keep that sexy ass of hers closeby.

The danger and crisis Gordon brought to the table were astronomical in stature. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, and Harvey had seen some major shit go down. It made Johnson Pickering look damn near risk-averse in comparison.

And just like that he thought of the kid.

How many years? Five years. (He'd be creeping up to his thirties now.) Harvey was still waiting for it not to screw up his insides. He kicked back a long gulp of booze to waffle-stomp any thoughts that might follow.

He guessed that meant he was dealing with things the only way he ever did. As far back as he could remember, he'd always been up for getting drunk as a flea in a gin bottle … but it got pretty bad after the kid took one in the neck. He did a halfway decent job of keeping the alcoholism to himself. At first. Until Madeline called him out on it. Because recycling bins don't lie. She'd been a little more understanding about that than he'd wagered. She got him into a program, meetings, all that happy horse shit. He even went to one couples counseling session with her, just so she might not leave his ass.

That worked. 'Til it didn't.

Standing there on the metal tarmac, Harvey stared up and away, trying to ballpark how many more hours he had left to live. He gave himself a rough estimate. More than ten. He tipped back the bottle. Less than twenty.

All of a sudden, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. His attention was diverted to a lone figure walking up to the tracks from the ticket booth, softly clicking her heels with each step.

A thought crashed through. _I'd know that ass anywhere._

It seemed so impossible for her to be there, standing there, the second her name popped up into the ether. But there she was. Dr. Madeline Scott. Psychoanalyst extraordinaire. Cinnamon hot red hair, trim legs, nice bust, and oh, stiletto heels that'll crush your heart like it's an heirloom tomato.

For a long moment Harvey stared at her, making sure it wasn't just his imagination. Nope, his imagination wasn't that good. He could tell it was her all right, even in spite of the darkness, his beer goggles, and the thirty or so yards that separated them.

Next came an all-too-familiar hot spark of anger. Well, la-ti-fuckin-da. Look who waltzed her way back into Gotham. Without so much as a damn phone call. He got a sudden image of himself taking out his cell phone and trying her number. Just so he could watch her reject his call in real time.

His chest tightened. He wanted to shout a lot of damn-near-hateful things at her. They all cued up, all the comebacks and biting sarcasm and rage. All the fights he never got to have with her, but always won in his head.

He shook his head. Look at her. Standing in her heels and skinny jeans, wind whipping back her red hair. Sitting pretty, waiting to take a Gotham train out of town alone at one 'o clock in the morning.

Now, he only wanted to shout one thing. _Have I taught you -NOTHING-?!_

She stared off, completely oblivious to the time of night and high likelihood of violent crime surrounding her. Probably having deep thoughts about some idealistic idea that would take a total nose-dive if ever put into practice.

Those were things he didn't miss. It was right up there with that condescending voice and laser stare and the literary allusions that sometimes made him smile but more often left him feeling inferior.

They had a good run for awhile after the incident. Harvey rolled his eyes. 'The incident'. Even with all the rampant boozing around, she hung in there. Things were okay, not great, but okay. Right up until she started to suspect that something in his work life didn't add up. So did she walk up, tap him on the shoulder, and ask him about it? Hell no. Maddie decided she'd rather play junior detective instead.

_"I know what's going on."_

_"Oh, you -know-, huh? And just how do you know that?"_

_"Because I followed you. I was there."_

_"You followed me. **YOU FOLLOWED ME?** " Into the recesses where only the truly dark whackjobs and reckless street kids dared tread. "Are you outta your fuckin' mind, Maddie?!"_

Then of course, she made with the textbook overreacting. Blowing shit way out of proportion.

_"What do you think's gonna happen when you decide you've had enough of their bullshit and you tell them to fuck off?! Huh? What then?"_

_"Stop. Just… Time-out. You need to calm down and stop talking about shit you don't comprehend."_

_"I only have one role to play on their chessboard! They will move me around to get you to do -whatever- they want you to do."_

_He stabbed the words at her. "Listen to me." He shouted down at her, "It ain't like that, okay? I -cannot- have you doubting me-"_

_"Harvey… They're -gangsters-. What am I gonna do if they come after me? … I can't … I can't even run…"_

_"Sitting here and freaking out about shit that's not happening isn't gonna change things."_

_"You think things haven't changed?"_

It just didn't stop. Them fighting. Her flashing her eyes at him. Lobbing insults like they were facts. Slamming the door behind her and spending the night at her office. They were less like two people who loved each other and more like two opponents locked in a long, bitter struggle.

Then one night she went nuclear.

_"It's not about them! It's about you!"_

_"Don't put this shit on me! You think I want this? You think I had a fucking choice?"_

_"Everyone has a choice! Don't you get it?! When you act like this it makes you…"_

And what did she do? What she always did. She tried to walk out on him.

_"Don't you walk away! Stay here and say what the fuck you mean! For once!"_

_"Like them! Like a thug! It puts you on the same level as the criminals you put away. It makes you like -them-."_

He couldn't remember what he'd said next, but it'd been said in a blind rage. She could have stopped there. It would have been bad enough, but she didn't.

_Her voice shook with anger … and then with grief. "If anything, ANYTHING AT ALL, happens to us because of this … It makes everything that happened, everything HE did, all for NOTHING!"_

Her statement hung in the air and absolutely could not be taken back. He felt as if he'd been slapped. He didn't say another word, and for the first time in their history, he was the one who left. After that, he gave her what she wanted. He gave her space. Harvey thought she might use the time to get all the poison out of her system. Hoping when she did that just maybe she'd be ready to hear some sense.

Instead she steered them in the complete polar opposite direction.

_She sounded so tired when she said it. "We can go away. I don't even care where, as long as it's not here. All we have to do is get in the car. We can leave right now."_

_"Maddie, I'm bound to this thing. I'm … I'm in deep with this. I'm not like you. I can't … I can't just pick up and leave."_

_"Can't? Or won't?"_

...What would she have him do? He couldn't explain to her that joining forces with Fish was a greater good thing. Like teaming up with China to defeat Hitler. The only thing he wanted more than to tell her that the only way - the only way - he'd gotten her out alive was by accepting help from Fish… was for her to never, ever know at all. Harvey knew all about guilt. Too much. And that type of guilt was the kind you don't come back from.

Even if Harvey decided to pack them up and ship them out, he'd still have a target on his back. He would have asked the last snitch that left Fish high and dry if he had any ideas for him. But if there were any pieces of Fuentes left in the river, they weren't saying much.

Then one day…

_"Look, Harvey, I… I can't do this any more."_

He walked inside their apartment, and he found the ring he gave her sitting on the pass through in the kitchen. She was just… gone.

Things were pretty rough for awhile. He couldn't get her to pick up the phone. It depressed the shit out of him. When he did try to get himself laid, he received exactly fuck all interest from any of the skirts at the bar, even the desperate ones. It was tumbleweeds out there. But really what did he expect? What the heck did he have to offer them? "Hi, I'm Harvey Bullock. I'm a morally relative, alcoholic cop who enjoys sordid encounters and long walks through the crime-ridden alleys of Gotham. I like to make the same mistakes over and over again. And never grow."

He didn't stay unfuckable, praise all the choirs of angels. He got back in the saddle, though it took a little longer than he preferred. He learned to take it where he could get it. After not too long, most days if he really needed some tail, he could find a pick-up game.

Things started looking not-so-grim. After a good year or two, she barely even crossed his mind. Then he caught her on the nightly news one day last year, right after her book hit the stands. She looked … goddamn. She was a bombshell. Fresh-looking, brilliant, so beautiful it hurt. Then he saw it. That rock on her ring finger. That night he somehow managed not to drink himself to death. So, you know, mad props to him for that accomplishment.

Looking at Madeline across the way, Harvey huffed a humorless laugh. He couldn't help but wonder what she'd make of the latest health crisis that his fucknuts of a partner dragged him into this time. Nevermind. He just realized whose side she'd take. Oh-ho-ho, she'd just _loooooove_ Jim Gordon. Throwing crooked cops in jail. Putting his neck on the line to challenge the wealthy and connected. Engaging in constant fast and loose, man-of-actioning foolishness. Stirring the mother fucking pot. Making his reputation as a doesn't give a fuck freedom fighter. He was just her brand of strawberry jam.

The Duchess rested a cigarette in the crook of her full lips. "Hey, stud. You got a light?"

He obliged her with an, "Always, darlin'."

Harvey lifted his gaze up to Madeline again. Standing all alone by the tracks, just asking to be … Damn it to hell. He didn't want to, but he'd walk up to her. He'd do it. He'd try not to be a complete jackass if he could help it. If it meant she might actually get to wherever she was going without making the top story in the Crime section of the Gotham Times.

Harvey took a step forward and stopped. All of a sudden, a man dressed in business casual with a head full of dark hair hurried out from the ticket station and came to a halt next to her. He grabbed up her hand. She smiled. He handed her a ticket, right before he kissed her.

Harvey automatically slung back a good hard swig of whiskey, hoping to kill off any brain cells that might dare to commit that image to memory. After drinking a triple shot, he took in the guy and gave him the best inspection he could with his bleary, bloodshot eyes. A few inches taller than her. Short but trim. He wasn't a younger model by any stretch… but he had less mileage. Probably had one of those jobs everyone had, working in IT or finance. Probably named something like Stew or Roy or Ted. The guy looked like…

Nice functional suburbs.

Harvey breathed a hard, whistling breath. There was a lot of crap rolling around through his upstairs attic at that moment, but one truth rang through. All throughout their relationship, the thing that bothered him the most was that on a basic logic level they made exactly zero sense. The numbers just didn't add up. But … him standing there with the Duchess, her standing there with Stew/Roy/Ted.

This made sense.

And just like that. His anger disappeared. Poof. Like the end of a freaking magic trick.

His face softened into an almost smile. ...This guy looked like he was taking care of her. He looked like he wouldn't make a wisecrack when she said things like "the whole paradigm has sexist overtones" and he didn't look like the type to loudly concern himself with the sugar content of her breasts. He definitely wouldn't drink himself under a table every night or get her mixed up in mad shady situations with mad shady people.

He growled out a short, proud sound. No way he rocked her little world though, not like Harvey did. Guys named Stew or Roy or Ted never could.

More importantly though, Madeline looked like she was getting around okay. She swapped her weight from foot to foot, and he knew why. He wondered if she was still chewing through Advil and icing her leg at night. He hoped that was just as far back in the rear-view mirror as everything else.

… It hadn't been all bad. Right, Maddie? They had their good times. And they both got out alive. They'd done that part together. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, he supposed that was all that really mattered.

Harvey shook his head at himself. If someone would have asked him yesterday what he thought about Dr. Madeline Scott, he would have said, "I don't." Now he stood here reeling through sweetly nostalgic memories, barely even registering that she was cozying up with the guy whose ring she chose to wear over his. He guessed imminent death had a way of simplifying things.

Harvey looked up to see her train chugging into the station loudly, scraping metal against metal as it threw on its brakes. When the train pulled to a stop, the guy helped her up the steps carefully, taking her leg into consideration. Then, for a second, Madeline paused at the top the stairs.

He all but panicked. Shit. A rush of anxiety kicked up as he realized that she might turn and notice him right back. He wondered what she'd see if she did. A shit for brains drunk parading around with a hooker? Someone she no longer recognized or connected with? … Something worse?

Without looking over at him, she squared her shoulders and boarded the train. He released a heavy breath, all too thankful that she hadn't looked his way.

He stayed there on the tarmac and watched her train start to power out of the station. It unlodged an old thought from way back in his mind. What was that mumbo jumbo she'd always yakked about? Something about tragedy looking different from a distance.

Harvey released a loose, satisfied sigh. Beside him, the Duchess whined, "Harvey, I'm bored." She pressed herself up against him and walked her fingers up his chest. "But I bet we wouldn't be bored… if we went back to your apartment…"

A wry smile curled upon his lips. He laughed wickedly as he looped an arm around her waist. He suddenly thought of the perfect way to thank Gordon for getting him involved in this shitting mess. "Nuh-uh, I got a better idea," he said. "C'mon, sugarplum, let's beat feet. I know just the place…"

Ah, what the hell. Fuck it. He was doomed anyway. He may well go join up with Team Jimbo and prepare to go down in a fiery blaze of glory. Who knows, maybe, just maybe he'd find some way to actually save both their miserable hides. Though of course, he doubted it.

Harvey turned back around as Maddie's train disappeared into the distance. He felt a pull in his chest, some long dormant emotion.

His eyes shone and he smiled, when he whispered after her, "Ride or die, baby."

Which of course meant...


End file.
